Entente Cordiale
by Cybille
Summary: A story about FrUK. A small warning: this is going to be a bit long and it will have some AU characters, since I needed to give them families to make the story work more. It also contains a few silly "horror" chapters, as per request, sorry. They're chapters 16-21, so you can go ahead and skip them if you wish.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur was having a bad day. A really, really bad day. It all started when he forgot to wind up his alarm clock the night before, causing him to wake up an hour late. In the shower he received note that he had forgotten to pay the water bill, cutting him from warm water. Then in the kitchen he found out that he was out of milk and his breakfast tea. A little later he realized he never got around to putting his most favorite tie in the washer. Then he couldn't find a copy of one of his most important contracts. Seeing as he was already late, he stormed to the parking lot only to find out that his car wouldn't start. Furious, he decided to take a bus, only to notice that he didn't have enough change to buy a ticket. After arriving to work two hours late after a long walk (which luckily was nothing to Arthur), he got yelled at by his superior. Then he yelled at him some more. Having had enough, he yelled back at him and lost his job. A little later in the grocery store he managed to get behind the longest lane. When he finally got outside, it started raining and he didn't have an umbrella with him. Absolutely livid, he started his walk home only to realize this was the heaviest rain they have had in 6 months. Completely soaked, he reached his apartment block and nearly got run down by a moving truck. Ready to punch anyone who got in his way, he finally made it to his flat. Then he saw that the empty accommodation next to his was being refurbished, which meant he would have to tolerate annoying neighbors. Finally between the safe walls of his home, he could relax. He was still frustrated, though - since it was still raining heavily, there was no chance he could go running and let out some steam. He decided to follow the wise words of his mother: keep calm and put the kettle on. Waiting the water to boil, he changed from his wet clothes into a sharp casual outfit (a British gentleman should always look like the best of him). Having done that, he refilled Bosey's food bowl and poured himself some English afternoon tea. Arthur had finally sat down to enjoy his cup, when the doorbell rang. Sighing and gritting his teeth, he set down the cup and went to answer the door.

"Bonjour! Good day!"

Arthur stared at the stranger judgingly. He was a handsome man (if Arthur would say something like that about a man like this peace disturber), probably in his early twenties, just like he himself was. His blond hair framed his face nicely and the little stubble on his chin and jawline was neatly trimmed. He was wearing nice clothes - "Probably more expensive than the ones I'm wearing," Arthur thought, a bitter tone of jealousy stinging himself when he remembered he had just been fired - and everything about him made Arthur think that the man was generally a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, someone who is always seeking opportunities for his own benefit and who is a very good people-person.

"Yes?" he asked and looked at the stranger who was feeling a little puzzled. "Oh, oui! Pardon me, I forgot that you should always state your name first when conversing in this country," he muffled, causing Arthur to cock his eyebrow. He now realized he was dealing with an accented Frenchman here. "Guess I was right about this pansy," he thought to himself when the man was introducing himself. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy," he smiled widely, revealing his pearly whites. "I came to England from France as part of a project called-" He stopped when he saw Arthur shifting in his door-frame. "Ah, but this story is far too long, so anyway, I'm here to tell you that from this day on I will be your neighbor for at least a year." "Yeah, okay, sure," Arthur only replied and shut the door to Francis' face, being oblivious to the fact that he wanted to say something more and that he held a small package in his hands for Arthur. "I don't have time for stupid neighbors, French neighbors," he grumbled when he got back to his tea. The day was already being a massive pain in the ass and he didn't need the unwanted attention of a new neighbor. "Ugh, not now, Bosey, you don't even like rain," he exclaimed when his English bulldog was nudging him as a sign to go outside. Disappointed, he turned his back to his master and went to leisure on the couch.

It was about 7 o'clock in the evening when Arthur heard the moving personnel finally leave the apartment next door. "How much furniture and stuff did this guy have anyway?" he thought to himself when he was washing the dishes. It was weird for him to do this so early in the evening. Usually he'd be home at about 6 PM and he would be out running at that moment, which he still hadn't have the chance to do since it was still pouring down heavily. He had already gone through his bank accounts to estimate the time he could spend unemployed. Luckily he had been saving up for quite some time to live easy if anything should happen, but he isn't the spending type. He was about to go and make himself his evening cup of tea, when he felt like an empty hole was inhabiting his stomach. "Arthur Kirkland!" he could hear his mother screaming in his head, "How many times have I told you to act like a proper gentleman all the time, no matter the time and the place!" He knew that the way he had behaved with Francis was rude and that his first impression of him must have been awful. The least he could've done is give him a warm welcome. "The French like presents, right?" he asked from Bosey who was sitting next to the counter. Arthur knew he didn't have anything proper in his house to give, but being innovative like he usually was, he found an old little basket from the dresser and thought of making a small gift-basket. "He'll probably like it, it's this... petite cute stuff, they like that, don't they," he mumbled to himself when he was rummaging through his pantry and cupboards. In the end he tied a little ribbon he found to the handle. He was proud of himself, he made had made the basket look like he had run to the store right after their little incident, even though he only did it in 10 minutes or less. It contained small packages of the English-must-drink teas and a few of his favorites, a bag of sweet bisquits from his mum who visited him just a few days ago and an autumn-colored scarf he had just finished knitting. His heart racing from the thought that Francis wouldn't accept his most humble apology, he left his apartment and knocked on the Frenchman's door. A few moments later a curious Francis opened the door, happy and awaiting who his first guest would be. Surprised, he looked at Arthur who was staring him straight in the eyes with a determined look for a few seconds, when he finally asked if the Brit wanted something. "Yes," Arthur answered. "May I come in?" Francis nodded. "Of course, but excuse my messiness, I haven't managed to unpack everything just yet."

The apartment plan was just like Arthur's; every flat in this block was built that way: it was basically a very wide area, a big room with an open kitchen, living room and bedroom, all a little separated by some walls. Only the bathroom, the pantry and the office were separate rooms. The coloration was in pastel colors, easy on the eyes and the furbishing was also very nice and fitted to the room. A lot of cardboard boxes were lying here and there and Arthur was surprised to see that nearly half of them were already emptied.

"So, how can I help you, mister..." "Oh, I'm Arthur. Arthur Kirkland," he said and offered Francis his hand. They shook and Arthur continued: "Listen, mr. Bonnefoy-" "Call me Francis, Arthùr," he smiled. "Actually it's pronounced... uh, never mind. Alright, Francis, I wanted to apologize for behaving so rudely before. It was completely inadequate of me, I didn't mean to act like - what, did I say something?" Francis was laughing and he said cheerily: "Oh, Arthùr, so it is true what they say of you, British! It's alright, but I am very happy to hear that it wasn't your intention to put me off like this." Arthur smiled and handed him over the basket he had worked on. "Here," he said, "a little welcoming gift." Francis chuckled. "Today is just full of surprises!" "Yeah, tell me about it," the other sighed and looked at his wristwatch. "Oh, no-no-no, it's nothing like that," he exclaimed when Francis looked at him with a slightly disappointed look, "it's just a habit of mine. It's a long story and the time is late anyway, so... Oh yeah, I was wondering maybe you'd like to hit the pub some night, I could show you around and we could get to know each other a little more, since, well, you know, we're neighbors now and all." Francis was surprised to see some kindness since he had always been under the impression the English look out mostly for people inside their circles. "I'd be delighted," he answered. "Great! Well, I'll just stop by your place some night when it isn't raining," Arthur said and opened the door, when the Frenchman stopped him. "I also had something for you!" he smiled and ran to the kitchen. He took out the little box from the fridge and handed it to Arthur. "Just a little "hello-I-am-you-new-neighbor" gift." Arthur thanked him, wished him a good night and went back to his apartment. He sighed when he locked the door, thinking he had acted way too friendly and he wasn't sure if inviting this snobbish Frenchman to the pub with his friends was such a great idea. He went to the kitchen, Bosey following him interested, and opened the small white box. He sighed in awe as he watched two green tarts glisten in the lamps - he had always had a secret sweet tooth.


	2. Chapter 2

It was 10 AM when Francis woke up, the Sun shining in his eyes. "Boy, did I woke early today. Must be because of the anxiety from moving," he thought when he looked at his cellphone. He stretched himself and closed his eyes so he could lay in the light warmness, when a muffled door-shut made him open them again. Every floor had only two apartments, so it wasn't a mystery who caused the slam. He got up and stood by the window to see his neighbor exit the building with a bulldog to the park with a brisk step. Francis opened the window, stepped onto the balcony and let his eyes stride over the street-view. It was a beautiful day, nothing like the one before. The Sun was shining, no cloud hindered the skies and the weather was mild with an occasional slightly chilly gust of wind blowing. Because it was raining when he arrived to his new home, he couldn't get a proper glimpse of the neighborhood before. It was a nice area, Victorian apartment blocks paving the road with trees and bushes on every corner. "So, Paris-like boulevards do exist in London after all," he smiled when looked how peaceful the cul-de-sac was. He noted that there were no tourists around at all. "I should definitely get a little table and a few chairs here," he thought when he looked around the little balcony. Satisfied with himself, he went back in to make himself a nice sweet breakfast.

Francis had decided to cover some land today. Because his bank account was quite healthy at that time, he didn't feel the need to look for a job. Whenever he was feeling he was getting a little low on cash, he could had just sold one of his paintings he did on his free time. His pro-camera in his hand, he was looking at the door which would lead him to discover what this strange city of Europe had for him to offer. Francis had a habit of taking photographs of nearly everything that crossed his way. Be it people, animals, sights, things or streets, he took photos of them all. He liked diversity and sought to find different views of life he could someday use in his paintings. "No doubt Arthùr on the other hand is the type who enjoys a quiet life with no diversions," he thought to himself when he looked at the scarf he got from him the night before. He was amazed how soft it felt and how neatly it was done. "That is some high quality clothing," he smiled, "I have to ask him later where he had bought it." The aspect that it matched the coat he was wearing made him even more content with himself and he stepped out to the corridor to take the elevator down. He wasn't completely sure about the machinery, since it originated from the late 1800's. "Why won't they have stairs here," he grumbled when the elevator started coming up before he could press the button. The elevator was slow and Francis was on the top floor - the fifth -, which meant that he'll be waiting for about two minutes for the ride to arrive, not to mind the fact that there was always a chance that a person went onto it from the same floor it stopped, spending even more time. He looked out the window and thought of using one of the fire-stairs along the house to leave, when he heard the elevator stop on his floor. "Oh, morning," Arthur said when he pulled the ear-buds off. "Bonj- good morning," Francis corrected himself, earning a laugh from his neighbor. "It's quite alright, I know a little French... from the movies, so it's the usual dumb stuff," he mustered as he was searching his pockets for his keys. "You have a lovely dog," Francis smiled and petted the English bulldog. "A complete mutt. His name is Bosey and he practically represents the lazy part of me. Oh, about the pub thing," he said when the Frenchman stood up. "If you're not busy we could go to the Hellhound tonight. Some of my mates from the uni are there too, so we can all adjust you to the busy life of London together." "Hellhound? Sure, tonight sounds good," he replied when he looked the Brit sigh of relief. "Great! So... I'll come by your door at about 8, alright?" he asked when he opened his apartment's door. "I'll be sure to be home by that time," Francis replied and wished him a good day. He had stepped into the elevator and started making his way down when Arthur finally went to his flat. "Note to self: be polite at all times. That won't be hard," he chuckled to himself and took a few photos of the old buttons inside the lift.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur didn't have the need to lock his door, the elevator took care of it for him. During the time this house was built, London was under a massive fear of vampiric creatures and all the supernatural due to all the literature out there related to them and notable amount of sightings, whether true or not. Because of that the elevator had a built-in key-system, which meant that if you don't insert your key, you can't get to the floor you live on. Although complicated and full of flaws in both logic and assessment (for example, if you lose your century-old key), it eased the hearts of Londonians of that time. And it eased Arthur's heart too, even though he knew such a simple thing wouldn't help against paranormal stuff, but much rather, against burglars (hence the lack of stairs). "You know, Bosey, I'm in a very good mood at the moment," he said cheerfully and twirled from one end of the room to the other. "I can't explain, but there is something about today." Bosey has seen his master act strangely before, it wasn't a sight or anything. He was a lonely man, not by lack of friends or family, but rather by his soul. Being lonely among other people is one of mankind's greatest curses, or at least, that's what Arthur thought. Having entered his office, he sighed, a note of sadness emitting from his tone. He looked at the dozens of photographs hanging from the wall - about his family, friends, his past events, adventures and happenings - and he felt even more lonely. All happy memories, but just what they were: only memories. Dead friends can't be brought back, past events can't be relived, family can't be brought back together just like it used to be. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, Bosey," Arthur said and looked at the pictures, "but you know what they say - you can't just mope around. What has happened, has happened, and you just have to deal with it." Bosey grunted gruffly and fell to his side to lay on the cool floor. Arthur looked at him, smiling, and noticed his old electric guitar hang on the other wall. "Why not," he thought and took it from the wall, plugged it in to his wireless amp and struck a few chords. It made him feel much better and a minute later he was dancing around his apartment, playing and singing along to "Renegade" by Styx.

Francis was having a great day too. An hour had passed since he left his apartment and already he had 7 numbers from admiring British women. "It's a pity I have to take each and every one of them on a date," he sighed when he secured himself a spot on the park bench. "But contacts in flower and pastry shops are great." He looked at the people around him; he has always found amusement in doing that. Whenever he saw someone who piqued his interest, he would take a picture of them. And whenever people came to ask why he was violating their rights for privacy, he could always only work his charm and tell them he's doing it for a magazine of sort (be it Vogue, National Geographic or something else), and people would forgive him. He was completely aware he was a handsome and an earnest man and he had planned to use his "abilities" to the fullest. Call it being sly, but it helped him get by and helped the people he's been with feel better about themselves. "No woman would ever be good enough for you," he remembered his mother say a long time ago. He smiled and thought of all the women he had taken advantage of, like others liked to put it. He would always get angry at them for saying that, because he felt he did no such thing. He only satisfied the physical and emotional needs of these women and what most, himself. "And I'm sure the ladies would agree with me," he chuckled and snapped a few photos of two sparrows sitting on the old small stone wall which surrounded the park. A buzzing in his pocket indicated someone was calling him. He took his phone out and stared at the screen for a few moments before answering. "Yes, Antonio?"

"Hey, I've told you that when you answer the phone you should address me by my full name!" a voice shouted from the other side. Francis sighed at the dumb tradition. "Yes, KING Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, how may I be of assistance?" The other man laughed. "My darling Francis Bonnefoy, how have you been? Haven't heard from you in over a month!" "That's not why you called!" Francis heard another man scream in the background. "Give me the phone!" "No! It's MY phone!" The Frenchman sighed as two of his best friends fought over the phone. "Francis Bonnefoy, you there?" a nasal voice asked. "Oui-oui, Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Francis, Antonio and Gilbert have been friends as long as they remembered. Known as the "bad friends trio", stories about them have reached the ears of many. Naming it harmless fun, they have had countless adventures and although there are times when they are at each other's throats for lesser things, they wouldn't change their friendship for anything other in the world.

"Good-good. Listen, how is London, eh? Seen some nice ladies, great places to drink yet?" Gilbert asked him, which to Francis replied scuffly that he's only been there for a day. "Great! Then we have a chance to discover all the good things together! We've just arrived in London, we're standing in front of the airport, I don't know which one, though." Francis sat on the bench, dumbfounded. He knew where Gilbert was aiming at: they wanted to meet him, but he had already promised to go to a pub with Arthur and even though he really liked his friends, he was looking forward to getting to know the Brit more closely too. After all, he was going to live next door to the guy and the walls weren't that thick, so it was better to know what was there waiting him. "Listen, I have plans tonight, I'm not so sure," he started but was cut off by Antonio. "Ohoho, so you DO have an "appointment" today with some girl? Is she hot? Does she have hot friends?" "No, nothing like that," Francis shook his head, even though he knew they couldn't see him. "Oh, so it's A GUY?" he heard Antonio laugh. "No, Antonio, it's not a date or something. I'm just going to a pub to hear more about the people here." He immediately regretted his words, but it was too late - he could hear his friends exclaim in joy. "Fits us well, we're thirsty anyway!" Gilbert said, having grabbed the phone once again. "We'll meet you in your apartment in two hours, okay? We got your new address from your mama, hahaha." The phone went silent when the Prussian abrubtly hung up on him. Francis facepalmed and stood up. "Guess I have some shopping to do," he said to himself and started to walk towards a market he had noticed earlier. He was glad he had found a bazaar here, and such a diverse one at that - being an excellent chef means knowing the importance of fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, bread and spices have in cuisine. He wasn't accustomed to using pounds instead of euros yet, but he was sure he would get the hang of it in no time.

He was currently admiring how spring green the leeks were when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Funny we keep running into each other all the time," Arthur smiled. "Arthùr, fancy meeting you here! I didn't know you were a market-goer." Francis was happy - maybe he could run into him here every once in a while and talk to him more. "Well, it beats the food-store on the corner of the fifth anytime," he said and looked at a barrel of potatoes, "although the prices are a little crispier here." "Oh, perfect, a fellow cook!" the Frenchman cheered, remembering all the British cook-shows which ran on some channels in France. "You can tell me which is average-priced and which is not, I'm so used to euros, you see." Arthur agreed and they spent the next 45 minutes roaming the market. Finally on the road home, bags and baskets full of goods, Francis felt like he could have a little chit-chat with the Brit. "So... Have you lived all your life here, in London? Do you know a lot about this town?" Arthur shook his head and they stopped behind the red stoplight. "No, I lived with my parents near the border of Scotland until I was sixteen and then I occasionally visited London, but I've lived here for when I started university and stayed here to work, so... about 5 years, maybe? Yeah, 5-6 sounds right. But I know an awful lot of this place, but there's no way to tell you everything about it, there's some things you just have to see for yourself." Francis smiled. The man was sounding more and more intriguing for him, he may not have been the usual grey Brit he thought he would be after all. "So," Arthur coughed, "what brings you to this mulky place anyway? You were talking of some project." "I don't understand, I think the rayon we live in is beautiful," Francis asked and looked at Arthur, who was startled by the sudden questioning look in his eyes. "O-oh, no, I mean, smog - smoke and fog - and rain are the main characteristics of this euro-city, not to mention the people who live here. Of course our neighborhood is wonderful, I wouldn't even consider living here if it weren't for our cul-de-sac." Francis was satisfied and decided to answer his question. "Actually there was no project. I just thought I should say something as a legit reason to move here. What I really was searching for is diversity, I wanted something different." Arthur chuckled. "I hear you, Francis, I hear you - I've done a great deal of things just do find some diversity." "Really?" Francis was even more interested. Oh, how he would love to visit his apartment some day, not to mention how much he was waiting for tonight. They talked about more minor things when they were walking along the nicely paved sidewalks, when Francis suddenly stopped. "What's wrong?" Arthur asked. "We're almost there, what are you looking at?" He followed the Frenchman's horrified gaze to the front door of their apartment block and found two young men, no older than himself, standing in front of it. "Friends of yours?" he asked when he was studying the two men, both so different looking from each other. Francis nodded. "You could say that." He watched in horror as Arthur noticed the two waving at them. He swallowed heavily and decided to walk in front of Arthur in case their sharp tongues might reach him first. Clearly confused by the Frenchman's sudden silence, Arthur, a little cautiously, followed him to the building.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur wasn't quite sure what to make of the three. All so different yet so similar in essence, he could deduce that they were long-time friends. He watched them argue about something a little ways off, feeling as awkward as ever. He couldn't go up yet, because, believe it or not, he still wanted to talk to Francis and as a matter of fact, the latter had asked him to wait while he "finishes some business" with the two strangers, whatever it may had been. About 5 minutes later of hearing only heightened voices, the three joined Arthur again. He looked at Francis who was staring back apologetically, not knowing how to strike a conversation. "What's wrong? Who are those two, Francis?" he asked and watched the two chuckle into their hands. Francis cursed in French and said with a bitter tone: "These are my idiotic best friends - the tanned bitch is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and the white whore is Gilbert Beilschmidt. Idiotic friends, meet my new NICE friend Arthùr Kirkland." Not sure how to react, Arthur decided to stay neutral when he shook their hands. "Look, man, I really don't blame you," Gilbert said to Francis when looking at the Brit, "he is cute. And liking dudes, there's no problem with that, hell, remember von Bock with who I messed around from way up north? That was some fine ass." Francis cursed some more as Arthur stood still, not quite registering what he had just said. "Mon dieu, it's nothing like that! He is my neighbor, Gilbert! I am really sorry, Arthùr, I really am." He was surprised when he saw Arthur laughing. "So you have those type of friends too, huh? It's nothing, my mates and my brothers make fun of me too, guess that's something we have in common." Francis let out a laugh too, relieved that he didn't take the comments the duo made seriously. "There's one more thing!" Antonio nudged Francis when they started to head up the stairs. "Oh, that," Francis grumbled and once again looked at Arthur with a pained look. "You see, they caught wind of the fact that we're going to a pub tonight, so they want to join us and your friends." As he suspected, Arthur didn't mind that and they carried along to the elevator. He opened the gates and entering it with Francis he was ready to put his key to the slot when he was suddenly pushed against the wall. "Sorry, king Artie, we just wanted to fit in too!" he heard Gilbert exclaim from behind his back. Jammed between the wall and Francis, there was no way he could move his hands to insert the key and push the button. "You are such morons," he heard Francis say near his ear, sending a chill down his spine from the low sweet tone due to his oversensitive hearing from playing different musical instruments over the years. If he would go to a bar for 15 minutes, he could tell you what every guest was talking about. "Couldn't you just take the next ride up?" he asked, only to receive word from an apologetic Antonio that he had already locked the gates, jamming them inside even more. "Great," he grumbled and tried to shift his hand, but to no avail. "Francis, do you have your key with you?" "Well, yes," the Frenchman started, "but there is no way I could take it. I have room to insert it and push the buttons though." "Great, then grab the key from sir Kirkland and let's get going," Gilbert said, frustrated from the heat which was generating from too many people in too little space. "Pardon, Arthùr, but where is your key?" Arthur didn't answer for a few moments, but then, quietly that Francis' stupid friends wouldn't hear, he replied: "It's in my hand, between the wall and my thigh." "Well, this is going to be a little awkward," Francis replied and started shifting his hand so he could find the Brit's. "No homo, right, Francis?" Antonio chuckled and was immediately somehow kicked in the knee. Arthur felt Francis' right hand snake around him when he was looking for his left, making him grow uneasy when remembering all the stories he's heard of the French. Finally feeling the Frenchman's warm fingers around his fist, he let go of the key into his hand. "You should wear gloves, your hands are so cold," Francis commented when he pulled back his hand and inserted the key to the slot, pressing the button after that. Slowly but surely the elevator started moving up. "Well, this is gonna be a long ride," Gilbert said, breaking the awkward silence. Arthur felt something soft brushing against his cheek and turning his head a little, he saw that it was the scarf he had finished as a quick apology-gift for Francis. He wasn't sure why, but seeing him actually wear it made him happy, gave him a sense of accomplishment. Three very long minutes later, they finally made it to the top floor. Having opened the gates with some difficulties, they got out of the elevator, panting for air. "I just hope none of the groceries got damaged," Francis said when he was rummaging through the bags. "Nah, I'm sure everything's A-OK," Antonio said and waited for Francis to take out his key. "Well, see you guys tonight then," Arthur said, having already opened his door. "Bye," Francis smiled and looked between the closing door how Bosey couldn't care less that his master came home. "Alright, show us your love-pad," Gilbert said smugly when snatching the key from his hands. Having opened the doors, they all stepped in.

Arthur opened the fridge to put the vegetables in when he stopped his hand. Sharpening his ears he could hear Francis' friends laugh and tease his neighbor on the other side of the wall. He sighed, cursed the thin walls and hoping they wouldn't be staying with him, he continued to stuff his fridge. Finished, he looked at his wristwatch. "Only 2 PM, huh? Wait..." he remembered that the job interview's he had had this morning results would have been sent to him for that time. He rushed to his office, nearly tripping over his leizuring dog, and turned on his laptop. A few minutes later he cheered out loud, causing Bosey to wake up. He had gotten the job he had applied for, although it wasn't such a big surprise for him, the cheering came from the fact that he wasn't unemployed for no longer than a day. Even when he was working for the company he got fired from the day before, he had gotten job offers every now and then from other firms who had noticed his talent. Even though he hated the job, it was well-paying and that's what mattered most at that time. He was happy he got the job he hated in that particular company though, since it was the rival of the one he got fired from. He took his phone and dialed the number of one of his best friends, Kiku Honda.

Kiku Honda was a short Japanese man with who he met in the International University of London. Even though weird at times, he was one of the most reliable people Arthur has ever known. Introduced by his distant hyper cousin Alfred, he was skeptical at first of the man, but countless get-togethers later he was sure he had made an excellent friend.

"Moshi-moshi~," a calm voice came from the other side of the line. "Kiku, you're in Japan?" Arthur asked worriedly. Usually he didn't answer his phone like that unless he had to answer it all the time in such manner. "Ah, no, sorry, I was just on the phone with my father, so it just got stuck on me. You know how he hates the English language," Kiku apologized. "So, what's up, Artie?" "You see, I met this bloke the other day and I kind of became friends with him. He's new in town so I asked him to come to the Hellhound with us to catch up on the life here. Well, today two of his friends showed up too and I thought that why the fuck not - the more, the merrier, right?" "I hear you," Kiku laughed, "I'll call Al too." Arthur sighed. He had never been too keen on his jolly cousin. He was an American, for Christ's sake, never knew when he might cross the line. Then again, he had never hanged out with a Frenchman, a Prussian and a man from Spain, so he had no idea what to expect from tonight. All he could hope for is that they won't tear the place down, immediately remembering a stupid situation he and his brothers found themselves in a few years ago. "You still there?" the man asked and Arthur was snapped back to reality, to today. "Yeah, well, see you at 9 PM, then," he said and they ended their call. More heightened voices were heard from the apartment next door and sighing, Arthur went to make himself a cup of tea.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hahaha, oh wow, Antonio, you just have to feel this bed!" Francis looked at his two friends frustratingly while they were sitting on his bed, bouncing. "I just made that," he sighed, grabbed a chair and went to the balcony. He sat down and lit a cigarette, all the while hearing the other two rummaging through his just furbished apartment. Soon after came Antonio, three glasses and a bottle of wine in his hands. "To us three," he said when looking at Gilbert dragging two more chairs. They filled the glasses and toasted, feeling as merry as ever. Francis noticed that the window leading to Arthur's balcony was also opened and hoped that his friends wouldn't notice it (he was sure those two would start yelling and doing other stupid things). He saw that his balcony had a little metal bench with pillows on it, a table and a shelf, countless cold-proof plants in pots on them. "Must be his little time-out corner," the Frenchman smiled to himself and kept pretending to listen to his friends chatter about women, alcohol and food, while he himself thought what a man like his neighbor would do on his free time. A minute later he saw Bosey enter the balcony, sniff air and go back inside. Having already realized that the dog was a weird one, Francis had no attention of trying to understand the meaning behind its actions. He was surprised to see it return, dragging something with his teeth. On closer inspection it seemed to be a cardigan of Arthur's. Bosey dragged it to the middle of the balcony, where the Sun was the brightest (aka the warmest), and laid on top of it. "What a clever dog!" Francis was amazed: it came to check the weather and how cold the floor was, only to return with something he would be comfortable with. Antonio and Gilbert noticed how Francis was staring at something in awe. Following his gaze they saw the dog lazing off in the warmth of the Sun. "Having fun there, Francis?" Gilbert asked with a grin, snapping the man back to their conversation. "No, I just... I'm just amazed how smart animals are," he replied, looking back at the dog. "I agree. Animals are smart. Well, smarter than Gilbert, at least," Antonio giggled and poured himself another glass of wine. "Bosey!" They heard Arthur yell from the inside and a moment later they saw him enter the balcony. "I just washed that, you stupid mutt," he grumbled and tried to persuade the dog to come off it, but to no avail. "He has a nice figure," Gilbert said smugly, earning a smack from Francis. "Mon dieu, don't tell me I can't have other male friends beside you two. Do I need to start protecting him from you, you slut?" Gilbert giggled and told him he's just joking and continued to reminiscence about the good times he had had with Eduard, telling them all the while that this guy was the only man he had ever needed. Francis looked back to his neighbor only to see that he was gone. Slightly disappointed, he sipped his wine, when Arthur came back holding a light brown fleece blanket. "Here," he could hear him say when he watched him lay it down on the floor. Bosey switched places and Arthur could finally take back his cardigan. Sighing, he battered it from dust and went back inside. "He seems like the sheltered type," Antonio said after a while. "Well, think about it," he continued after getting a questioning look from his two friends, "look how neatly he's dressed. He's about our age, lives alone with a dog. He probably has a boring job and barely gets out. Most likely he spends his free time reading books, drinking cups of tea and sprouting that English gibberish like "lolly-gagging" and "jolly good show, ol' chap" and that sort of thing. I still can't believe we're going to a pub with a guy like him." "I don't know," drawled Gilbert, "I haven't really met a British person before, so I can't be really sure how they behave, although I think good old Artie here is the stuck-up type. I'm pretty sure you get your knowledge from dumb movies, Antonio, and if I follow that logic I could say that Francis feeds off baguettes, frog's legs, red wine and cigarettes, but we both know that's not true." "Yeah, and besides," Francis joined, "I've had a few chances to talk to the man and he seems like a reasonable guy. He really knows the art of speaking, though: he says so much yet so little at the same time, so I can't say I have a full grasp on him." "I don't know, I still get the feeling that he's our stereotypical wealthy poor British guy," Antonio persuaded. Not getting an answer from his two friends and unsatisfied with the fact that he had been put off by them, Antonio started to pour himself another glass only to find out that the bottle had been emptied.

Slowly the day crept into the night and it was 7 o'clock when Francis turned off the stove. "I am so glad I'm friends with you," Gilbert said as he hungrily looked at the pot of magnificent Italian pasta the cook was bringing to the table. "Tagliatelles aux fruits de mer. Dig in." The three started lifting the pasta to their plates when they were interrupted by a sudden clatter on the other side of the wall with a loud "son of a bitch" following it. Immediately Francis, Gilbert and Antonio were out the apartment and knocking on Arthur's door. "What?" demanded an irritated Arthur after opening the door, ceasing Antonio's and Gilbert's giggling. "We heard a loud noise, is everything alright?" asked Francis, at the same time trying to get a glimpse of his neighbor's place without notice. "Yeah, everything's alright," Arthur answered, having calmed down a bit. "It's just that Bosey decided to play a log again. I tripped over him and broke the dishes I just had finished washing." "That's too bad. Hey, why won't you join us for dinner? Francis made a lot of delicious pasta," Antonio smiled and nudged Francis, earning an unsure where-are-you-going-with-this look from the latter. "Oh, no, I wouldn't mean to trouble you, you have fun," Arthur tried to deny the offer but to no avail. A minute later he was once again in his neighbor's nice apartment, sitting across the table from Francis. "Isn't that nice, now every side of the table has an eater," Gilbert smugly said and continued to stuff his face. The dinner itself was lively thanks to Antonio and Gilbert, but Francis couldn't help but to think that Arthur was feeling a little awkward, a little out of place, so to speak. He wanted to strike a conversation with him, wanted to know more of him, but he was unsure of how his friends would behave, when suddenly Antonio addressed Arthur himself. "Man, that pasta sure is great, right, Arthur?" Arthur nodded. "It's delicious." Francis sighed in relief - he wasn't quite sure why, but the fact that Arthur enjoyed the food he had made was encouraging. "Can you cook?" he asked. Arthur laughed. "Only as much as I need to get myself by," he gruffly said and took some more pasta. "Oh yeah, I've been meaning to ask you," Gilbert said and Francis grew uneasy, "this English breakfast, it has all sorts of nice, delicious greasy things in it, right? Sausages, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes - all roasted up nice. Don't get me wrong, I like greasy meat - yeah, yeah, laugh away, Antonio, you pervert - but eating that stuff every day? Isn't that... a bit unhealthy?" Arthur shook his head. "We don't eat it that often, heck, I only eat it when I visit my parents. No one really has that for breakfast anymore, it's too heavy and a little sickening, to be honest." "Oh, so it's another stereotype?" "Yes. Just like Francis doesn't live off baguettes, frog's legs, red wine and cigarettes, I don't feed off fish 'n' chips, English breakfast, scones and tea," he answered and took a sip of the white wine Francis had poured to everyone. Antonio and Gilbert exchanged awkward looks realizing that Arthur must have heard practically every comment they had made. Francis was ashamed of the two and with a sigh he took the dirty dishes and went for the sink.


	6. Chapter 6

After an awkward end to the dinner, they left Francis' apartment to go to the pub. After getting his jacket from his own flat, Arthur pressed the button to make the elevator come up. Once up, he quickly entered the lift, activated it and got out before closing the gates, pulling Antonio and Gilbert in. "Enjoy your ride down!" he exclaimed when watching the two disappear, disappointed expressions on their face. Francis laughed. "I agree, it was a little stuffy with all of us inside, but what about us? We'll wait for it to come back?" He watched as Arthur went to the window at the end of the corridor and pulled it open. "Nope," he answered, climbing out of it and stepping onto a platform, "we're just going to take the faster way down. Now come on, although old, it's safe, I've used these stairs dozens of times." Francis followed him out the window and soon they were climbing down the rusty stairs, the cold night wind shuffling through their hair. Soon after they were waiting before the front door for Antonio and Gilbert to exit. A few moments later they came through the door, Francis laughing and asking whether they enjoyed the ride or not. "How did you get here so fast? There really are stairs somewhere in this musty old building?" asked Antonio. "No stairs, only... magic," answered Arthur, swindling his fingers in the air. "Now come on, follow me."

He walked down an alleyway, Francis rushing to get by his side, his two friends closely following. "Sure gets dark fast, huh?" Francis tried to start small-talk when walking. "I guess," Arthur only answered, "it is fall, after all, it gets darker earlier each day. Plus a storm is forming in the skies, I regret not taking an umbrella with me." After ten minutes of walking in silence (except for the lively sounds behind them coming from Antonio and Gilbert), Francis apologized for earlier. "You have to forgive my friends, well, you DON'T have to, but you know what I mean. Most of the time I'm not even sure myself if they know themselves what kind of shit they spew when talking." Arthur shook his head. "It's quite alright. Like I said before, I'm used to people talking behind my back and besides - every person has a right for prejudice." Even though he felt there was no need for an apology, he was glad Francis did it anyway. It showed that he was a somewhat caring person, at least as much for him to apologize for misunderstandings. "So, you go to this pub often?" asked Gilbert, grabbing Arthur's shoulder from behind. "Oh, umm, I visit it at least once a week or so." "Great, then you're a regular there! Which means we'll probably get a discount!" Gilbert joyed and went to the back again to tell Antonio of the good news. Arthur sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets for protection from the cold wind. "I'm telling you, you should wear gloves. Why not buy some from the store you got me that scarf from? That reminds me, I wanted to ask you where you got it from? I hope you didn't spend too much money on it, it looks and feels really expensive," Francis said, a little excited. Arthur couldn't help but to blush from self-content and he was glad it was too dark outside to notice it. Even when they did pass under a streetlight, he could had always said it was from the cold. "I... Oh, I'll tell you later, we've arrived," he answered when they stopped in front of a rundown little building. "This is the place?" Antonio asked suspiciously and tried to look through the extremely dirty windows, already regretting he had joined them. "Hmph, yes, this is the place. You'll see when we're inside," Arthur said smugly, passed under the Hellhound's sign and opened the door for them.

Francis, Antonio and Gilbert were blown away by the inside, it was nothing like the facade. "They should have named it "Don't judge a book by it's cover," Gilbert said and looked around him in awe. "They wanted to, but the name was too long," Arthur replied and hanged his jacket onto the coat-hanger in the corner. The pub was as if a mixture of old and new. It looked like the traditional English pub you'd see in the movies: a scratched big wooden counter with glasses hanging above it, a bearded barman working the beer-drain, countless different bottles of every alcoholic drink imaginable behind him. The air was filled with the sweet scent and slightly colored smoke of flavored tobacco, eccentric people (doubtfully the usual „normal" people would enter such an abandoned looking place on a whim) were happy and singing in few corners. The lighting and the atmosphere were mild and it was the perfect place, a shining gem in the middle of same-colored rocks, to unwind and warm up from the cold world waiting outside the door. "Evenin', Artie!" the bartender called, a few "good evenings" following from others as well. "They're in the back, Ada will soon bring the usual." Arthur thanked him and left for the back of the pub, the other three closely following. "Hey, leave your coats and jackets on the hanger," Arthur stopped them and continued when they had made such. After shimming through closely put wooden tables, they finally managed to get to one under the window. Against the wall was an old-styled couch and a few more chairs had been added to the scraped table. At it were sitting two men, both showing no shame in staring, interested, at the three strangers. "Alfred, Kiku," Arthur said happily and sat down on one of the chairs. "Here, we already ordered for you," Alfred said when sliding a pint to him. "We weren't too sure of what to order for you guys," Kiku said, bowing his head, before sipping more of his sake. "They even have sake here?" Antonio surprised and received word from the Japanese that they have many different types of liquor from all around the world. "If one would break in to the cellar here, he or she would probably get extremely drunk just from the smell," Alfred said knowingly while gulping down his Bud Light. "Ah yes, introductions," Arthur said when Francis sat next to him and Antonio and Gilbert joined the other two on the couch. "This is my new friend, my neighbor, Francis, and these two are his good friends, Antonio and Gilbert." "Nice to meet you, my name is Kiku Honda and- " "And I'm Alfred, but you can call me Al!" the American interrupted. "Do you live here?" Francis asked, because he wasn't too sure tourists would come to such a place. "I do, but Al is just visiting from the states," Kiku answered and poured himself some more sake. "Yeah, the only reason he ever comes here is to bitch about how England is so weirdly different and the other main reason is that the-" "The booze is much cheaper here than in my hometown!" Alfred interrupted Arthur. "So, what are you ordering? I don't know if you guys know, but my cousin gets drunk very easily, so be sure not to get drunk before him, or else you'll miss one hell of a show!" "I do not!" Arthur exclaimed. "You two are cousins?" Gilbert asked, not believing that these two different men could be related to each other. "Yeah, very distant cousins," the Brit answered. After a few minutes of light chatting a beautiful redhead came, carrying 6 glasses and a bottle of whiskey on her platter. Antonio immediately took out his phone. "Crap, there's something wrong with my phone," he grumbled. "Oh, really?" Ada said, interested. "Well, I'm a bit of a mechanic on my free time, what do you think is wrong?" "Well, you see," the Spaniard smiled, "it doesn't have your number in it." Ada rolled her eyes. "Guess your phone will never be fixed then." The other five laughed, tears coming from Gilbert's eyes ("Man, that was so painful to watch!") when the bartender put the glasses and the bottle on the table. "Anything else?" "Oui, a large glass of vermouth, please," Francis asked, giving her his handsome smile. "A beer for me," Gilbert ordered while winking and Antonio just asked for a bottle of tequila and some lemons and salt. "It's not all for me," he said to the men, "we all have to drink up. Toasting! For friendship! Bros before hos, that sort of thing!"

Hours later they were all in a very jolly mood. Countless bottles and glasses covering the table, they were laughing at pretty much everything. "Alright guys, fun's over, it's 2:30, we're closing! I already ordered you two cabs," Ada came to pick up the bottles. "Kiku, you sure can't hold your liquor," Arthur laughed as he watched him doze off against Alfred's shoulder. "Look, who's talking!" Gilbert giggled and hiccuped, "You were the first one to get drunk! From a glass of beer, a glass of whiskey and a shot of tequila!" Arthur tried to stand up, but tumbled on top of Francis. "So embarrassing," he muttered when Francis helped him back up. "My legs won't obey me." They managed to put on their over-clothes and went out to get some air and wait for the cab. Ada had came out for a smoke and watch that the six would make it on to the taxi. Francis, Arthur and Kiku went in one cab, whilst the other three to the other, since it turned out they had been staying in the same hotel. Kiku lived a few streets off from Arthur's and Francis' homes. After a somewhat quiet ride, they stopped in front of their apartment block and got out, paying for their ride and wishing good-night to the Japanese. Fumbling with the front door and the elevator gates, they finally managed to get inside it and start their slow ride up. Arthur sat down on the floor to stop the world from spinning and Francis joined him. After five minutes Arthur realized that he didn't press the button and laughing, he activated the lift. "You know, Francis," he said while tossing his arm around the Frenchman, "you are a really OK guy, you know. At first I thought that you'd be some kind of French pansy, but you are really great, I am so glad I have a neighbor, N-NO! A FRIEND, like you, ha-ha-ha." Francis laughed and thanked him. "Same to you, Arthùr, same to you," he said and noticed that the latter had fallen asleep. When they made it to the top floor, Francis picked him up and said to him: "You're lighter than I thought," which to Arthur only grumbled through his sleep. Francis unlocked his neighbor's door and stepped inside. Not knowing where the light-switches were, he tumbled through the dark flat. Having finally found the bed, he tossed the Brit on to it and removed his jacket and boots. "You know, you are a lousy guard-dog," he said to Bosey, who was laying on the bed, watching them. He tried to get to his apartment, but opened the wrong door and found himself inside Arthur's dark office. Having found a paper and a pen from the table, he went to the window for some light and scribbled a note on the paper. He went back the way he came from and before leaving for his own bed, he put the note on the counter in the kitchen.

The next day Arthur woke up around noon. "Ugh, my head," he gruffed and rolled off his bed. His head in his hands, he made his way to the kitchen to get a drink. Having gulped down nearly the whole 2-liter bottle of orange juice, he noticed a piece of paper on the counter. There stood a little note with a phone number:

"Bonjour, Arthùr!

You fell asleep on the elevator, so I brought you to your apartment. I had to take your key with me so I could lock the door, so if you wake up, call me and you'll get your key back!

Francis."


	7. Chapter 7

Francis woke up to his cellphone's buzzing under his pillow. Yawning, he reached for it and stared at the unknown number calling. "This isn't a French number," he thought to himself when he finally answered it. "Francis?" came from the other end and Francis sighed in relief that it wasn't some kind of government agent like a tax-collector, since he wasn't too sure how stuff like that worked there in Britain. "Ah, good morning, Arthùr," he replied and sat up. "I found your note and wanted to apologize for any inconvenience," Arthur said with a tired voice. "Non-non-non, it's alright. I'll be over there in just a minute with your key." Francis stood up and stretched himself, enjoyable memories from last night flashing through his mind. Having put on his morning robe, he took the key from the small end table next to the door and went to unlock his neighbor's door bare-feet, wearing nothing other than boxers, a t-shirt and the robes he had just put on. When the click had sounded from the door-lock, Arthur immediately opened the door. "You've been up for long?" Francis asked, looking at him already dressed. "No, just woke up and thought I'd change from the clothes I slept in. Umm... to show my gratitude for not leaving me in the elevator... would you care to have breakfast with me?" Arthur asked a little awkwardly. "Sure, but you'll have to forgive me my dressing manners," Francis replied, smiling, after having stepped in. "Morning, Bosey," he scratched the dog, who was laying in front of the kitchen counter. "I don't have anything fancy, forgive me, we can make sandwiches and porridge," Arthur said apologetically when he was rummaging through the pantry and the fridge. "They'll do just fine. Want some help?" Francis offered his help which to Arthur declined, saying he's the one doing the thanking. "But I want to thank you for last night. I had a really great time," he insisted. "Haven't you heard that the British are a stubborn bunch of people? Now go on, make yourself at home," Arthur declined, laughing, and started to set the table, or rather, the counter. Francis had to accept his defeat and he started to walk around the apartment, finally managing to see it in daylight. He didn't know that all the flats looked the same, so it came as a surprise to him that it was built the same way his was. It was furbished nicely and different shades of black, white, gold and dark green had been made to contrast each other at nearly a master level. It was a modern pad, with few old objects commenting the surrounding. Francis noticed a colorful piano in one corner of the big room and asked: "Have you played the piano for long?" "For quite some time, yes," Arthur replied while stirring the porridge. "If you're wondering about the odd colors and pictures painted on it, then for your information I bought it from a children's charity auction. It sounds nice, though." Francis couldn't help but to smile when giving the piano a closer look. Although so weirdly different from the rest of the apartment, the position and look it had somehow worked with the rest. He noticed a few framed photos on the wall next to it and couldn't help but to smile even more. It wasn't a mystery who the small boy with the thick brows and messy golden hair behind a piano was and he guessed that the people on other pictures with the grand piano were his family. "You were a cute kid," Francis noted. "Yeah, what happened, right?" Arthur laughed. The Frenchman noticed that the door where he got the paper last night was closed and having been taught so, he knew that one should never enter closed doors in someone else's home unless the host himself allows it. Being polite like he always was, he ignored the door, although his curiosity was burning; he was so sure all the "delicious" info was in that room. About ten minutes later he joined Arthur to sit behind the kitchen counter. "You have a tidy and a lovely home," he said when spreading flavored butter over a piece of bread. "Thank you and same words to you too. You... probably drink coffee in the mornings, right?" Francis nodded, which to Arthur sighed. "I don't really like the stuff myself," he said while searching the drawers for a French press he had gotten years ago, "but I have the press and a bag of ground coffee in case I have visitors who like to drink it." Francis watched as he, awkwardly, tried to prepare it. A few long minutes later he poured him a cup, which the Frenchman gratefully accepted. Having taken a sip of it, he immediately regretted he hadn't take a cup of the breakfast tea Arthur had instead. It was unbelievably bitter and even though disgusting, he managed to swallow it and say it was good. "That bad, huh?" Arthur asked, a little disappointed in himself, having seen through his little play. He took the cup from his hands and poured it down the sink along with the rest of the coffee. "Here, try this," he gave him another cup filled with creamy liquid: English breakfast tea with milk. "It's delicious," he said for real this time, having sipped the drink. He knew that the British usually drank their tea with milk and at first he had been skeptical about it, but Arthur had proven him otherwise. Arthur's face was gleaming with content when Francis asked for another cup.

After finishing the nice breakfast, Francis helped Arthur clean up the table before leaving for his own home. Before he was out the door, Arthur stopped him. "Hey, it's Saturday, so I have nothing much to do, so... I thought that maybe you'd like to go around town a little? You know, so you'd see more of London and you'd know where to go and what to do," he said, scratching his head. "Besides, Bosey needs some exercise." Francis was happy Arthur had asked him to toggle along, so he didn't have to ask the already busy Brit himself. He accepted the offer with a smile and said he'd come back to his place in an hour. Closing the door behind him, he was glad that he had managed to befriend a good man such as Arthur was, who was appearing to be even more interesting than he had thought at first.


	8. Chapter 8

Weeks had passed and the friendship between Francis and Arthur had grown. Constantly having fun on their free time together, it was nearly impossible to see one without the other at any given time. Soon Francis was also known as a regular in the "Hellhound" and if someone would meet the two for the first time, they would suspect the two had been friends for years. Although Francis had learned many things of his new friend, he still couldn't say he knew him well, since the Brit rarely talked about his family or his past. All he knew was that Arthur came from a big family and that he had left home when he was sixteen, but overall he had a pretty good grasp of his interests, skills, personality, habits; that sort of thing. That much had been cleared to him by their numerous visits to each other, but ever since Arthur won a PS3 and £100 worth of PSN money with a lottery, they've been visiting each other even more, because those rare boring evenings were boring no more.

They were currently in the middle of an intense racing game when discussing about the renovation plans concerning their apartment block. "So they received numerous complaints about the elevator and locks?" Francis asked, furiously tapping the turbo-button. "Yeah," Arthur replied and cursed the powerup in the middle of the road that he missed. "So they started the construction of proper stairs on the opposite side of the one where the fire-stairs are, extending the corridor. They'll still keep the elevator running though, something about historic value or that sort of thing. Oh, and the door-locks? They're going to install new ones free of charge, and those will have new keys and it can be locked from the inside without using a key." "That's neat." While Francis gloated over his close win over Arthur, the latter went to take a few beers from the fridge when there was a sudden knock on the door. Confused, he stared at the door and Francis asked whether he was expecting guests. Arthur shook his head and said he was more worried about how on earth did someone get behind his door in the first place. "Maybe whoever came to visit you used the fire-stairs?" Cautiously Arthur went for the door and opened it. "Scottie!" he exclaimed with surprise when a young man, slightly taller than him, hugged him. "Evenin', Bosey! How 've ye been, faggot?"

Allistor, or Scottie, as he was known midst his friends and family, was the youngest and the most mischievous of the Kirkland siblings, preceded in age by Arthur with three years. Strong and tall, he looked like a typical handsome Scottish highlander with dark red hair. Although constantly nagging at each other's throats, Arthur and Scottie were good brothers.

"Evenin', mutt!" Allistor greeted the English bulldog, having entered the flat. "An' who's that?" he asked pointing at Francis. "It's not polite to point, but it's not like you'd know anyway," Arthur said and took his brother's coat. "This is my good friend Francis. Francis, meet my brother: Allistor Kirkland." They shook hands and Francis had to admit to himself that although the two looked different, you could tell they were brothers. "Why are you here anyway?" Arthur asked, leaning against the counter, watching how Francis awkwardly stood in front of the television and how Scott was playing with Bosey (he was pulling the dog from ears and tail and it didn't give a single fuck about it). The younger brother stretched himself and yawned. "I'm on my way to Edinburgh so I thought I'd drop by for a minute and take the thing with me," he vaguely said, looking around himself. "What thing- oh," Arthur replied. "I'll go look for it." Arthur hurried to his office, shutting the door behind him. Not knowing what to do, Francis decided to talk to Scottie a little. "So... why did you call your brother a faggot? No, better yet, why Bosey? Isn't that the dog's name?" he asked quietly. Allistor continued pulling the dog and answered: "Well, yeah, but we used t' call lil' Artie "Bosey" in our childhood 'n' when he left home, he bought himself a mutt 'n' named it "Bosey", 'cause he felt all alone in th' big ol' worl' without us 'n' all. So he could hear the name on a regular basis, y'know? What a sad pathetic piece o' shit that faggot is." Having managed to understand through the accent what Scottie had said, Francis immediately saw Arthur in a new light. There had been something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but now he thought maybe it was the loneliness. He had always wondered why he had suddenly left his home in just his teenage years. Maybe something had happened, is that why he never talked about it? Francis found it odd, to say the least, because from what he had seen and heard, Arthur was currently on good terms with his family. The subject interested him, but he knew he shouldn't meddle in such type of business until Arthur himself chose to tell him. A few minutes later Arthur emerged from his office, holding a small package. "It was well hidden, sorry it took so long," he apologized and handed the pack over to his brother. "No need, thanks, Artie. Well, I'd better be off then, see ya in spring!" Scott said and left, leaving Arthur and Francis in a slightly less tenser atmosphere.

After an hour of furious sticker-collecting in LittleBigPlanet, Francis finally took up the courage to ask about the package. "I was wondering when you were going to ask me that," the Brit replied, hitting the pause button to get away from the frustrating jump he kept missing. He took a swig from the beer-bottle and continued: "To be honest, I have no idea what's inside it. We inherited it from our great-grandfather when we were young and he told us not to open it at any cost. Although our curiosities were burning, a Kirkland never goes down on his word so we have kept it sealed ever since. We took turns guarding it, it's our... our little thing, you see." Disappointed in just finding more mysteries circling around his friend, Francis only shrugged to the answer and they kept playing games into the late night.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a cold Saturday afternoon at the end of November and Arthur was currently finishing his jog when he noticed Francis up front leaving the grocery store. "Francis!" he called out and the man turned, smiling and waiting for Arthur to get to him. "Had a nice run?" he asked when Arthur was next to him. "Not really," the Brit replied when shuddering in the cold. Because he wasn't running anymore, he had stopped generating heat and since it was one of the coldest November London had seen in two centuries, it didn't take long for even a runner to feel cold. "It's nearly impossible not to slip because of this stupid sleet." "Sleet?" Francis asked, brows furrowed. wondering what the word might mean. "Oh, sleet is this mushy cold stuff which happens when people walk or cars drive on the snow and it had been slightly warmer the other day." "Oh, that stuff," Francis nodded and they kept walking home, he in his warm coat and Arthur in his running-suit. They noticed a middle-aged couple in front of them searching for streets' signs and constantly checking their map. "Tourists? Here? At this time of year?" Arthur cocked an eyebrow towards Francis and they went to see if they needed any help. They were a kind couple, Americans judging by their accent, who got separated from their group in search of a cafe. After a few minutes of explaining the man finally understood. "Oh, so I take a left here and then go there! Ah, how silly of me. ... Hey, wait a minute," he started to stare at Arthur, who was slightly growing uneasy, having an idea, what's coming next. "Marge, look! You! No, but it can't be! Johnny Dreams! But you're supposed to be dead!" "I'm sorry, sir, but you have me mistaken with someone else," Arthur sighed, feeling Francis' questioning stare on him. The woman agreed: "He is right, George. Although he looks a lot - and I do mean, a lot - like Johnny - bless his soul -, he isn't him. The hair and the brows are different and we all know Johnny died many years ago and besides, he wasn't British. Oh, poor-poor Johnny." "Yeah, I'm sorry," the man apologized. Arthur shook his head and told them it was alright. After having seen them leave, Francis turned to Arthur. "What was that all about?" Arthur sighed and felt really guilty in front of him. "Francis, I... I'm terribly sorry, but I haven't been quite fair with you," he mustered and stared at the ground. "You leave a lot of things untold, I've figured as much, but it's alright. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Francis said and put his hand on Arthur's shoulder as a sign of encouragement. Arthur looked at him for a moment and finally smiled. "But now I feel that I want to, Francis. That is, if you'd be willing to liste to me yammering about my past," Arthur stammered and felt awkward under Francis' look. "I'd be delighted! You have no idea how much I'm interested in knowing about you more, it's so obvious you have a much more interesting history than you let everyone see!" the man laughed. "Yeah... interesting," Arthur said to himself and they continued home.

Half an hour later Francis stepped into Arthur's apartment and was surprised to see that the apartment seemed empty. He called out to Arthur who stepped out of the bathroom, a towel in his hands, yet already dressed. "Sorry, I was on the phone with my father before so I couldn't take a shower earlier," he said when drying his hair. "Well, let's go to my office then." Francis followed him, not being able to stop himself from watching how the Brit, asi f hypnotizing, kept shuffling his hair so it would dry faster. Arthur opened the door and said: "After you." Francis stepped into his office and immediately was baffled at how many things were in it. Small walls covered with photos and posters were first to attract his attention. "Huh, where should I start?" Arthur mustered and decided to go with the photos, pulling Francis with him. "Look at this one." Francis looked at an old photo of a 15-year old Arthur holding a helmet and standing in front of a racing car with another man, who was lifting a trophy high up to the air. "I have always mentioned I left home when I was sixteen, but I've never told you the story about it. Well, when I was still in my early teens, I decided to join racing practice. They said I had talent and after a while I was allowed to take part in non-junior races. The real off-road deal, you know? There was no way someone my age was allowed to take part of something so dangerous, but they bent the rules in sake of glory. It makes me sick, thinking about it now, but back then I was just a young boy, ecstatic of the opportunity I've been given," he said when Francis was looking at other racing related photos near the one Arthur showed. "But then," he said quietly and the Frenchman turned to him, feeling a little worried from the sudden change of tone in the Brit's voice. "It was supposed to be an easy race, although on a tricky terrain. I had been driving through it so many times, so I knew where were the deadliest turns and so on. I was in first place and there was still half a lap left. Benjamin - the man lifting the cup there - was my card-reader and a very reliable one at that. I remember, he told me there was a U-turn to the left coming up next in the thick woods, but I knew it wasn't true. Like I told you before, I had driven through the lap a dozen times, so I knew everything about it. I was certain it was to the right. Benjamin, he... he kept pressing me and told me it's to the left. I decided to trust him and when the turn came, I..." Arthur stopped and bit his lips. "I should had trusted my instincts, Francis," he continued with a hushed voice, "I should had turned right, but instead I turned off the track at full speed. There... there was practically nothing left of the car, I survived somehow, but Benjamin, he... he died because of my mistake." Francis felt awful seeing how Arthur was so broken about it. "It wasn't your fault," he said, truly believing in what he said. "They told me as much," Arthur coughed, "but his family accused me. I was a kid, Francis, a mere child, illegally racing and I felt I was really the one to blame, that I had it coming. Unable to bear the guilt, I left home one night and went to the states to Alfred's; I had saved up for something like that for a long time." He smiled with a sad look. "My mother was so broken after that. She kept calling me and begging me to come home every single day and after two years I finally returned, but because of different reasons." Arthur stepped towards his electric guitar hanging on the wall and Francis followed him. "In the states I was known as Johnny Dreams," he said, embarrassed, and pointed at a tacky poster hanging from the wall. Francis let out a surprised laugh when he saw a young man, Arthur, playing the guitar hanging on the wall. "It really is you," he grinned and looked at Arthur. The Brit laughed, eased by the fact that they were now on a less depressing topic and covered his brows. "I had to trim them every day so they wouldn't grow back," he smiled and looked at Francis, who was glimpsing back and forth between the Arthur on the poster and the one standing next to him. "Your current look suits you better," he laughed. "So what's the story behind "Johnny Dreams"?"

"You see, when I went to the states, I had to earn money in some way. I found an old electric guitar from the trash one day and decided to learn how to play. I listened to so many rock-artists and thanks to my musical hearing I was soon one of the best guitarists out there, if I do say so myself. I started doing gigs, but Alfred said that I need a certain look to attract more people. So, one day, he came home with a bottle of black hair dye. I dyed my hair black, trimmed my brows, wore punk clothes - all in all, I made an alter-ego called Johnny Dreams. It was so easy to lose the British accent when talking, but it grew tiresome after a while. I was so popular and what's best is that no one back home knew it was me, which made it all so much easier. But after two years I grew tired of the fame and sick of the people in the music industry and I wanted to end it all. I wanted to go back home, to England, I missed my family, but I couldn't just leave the USA just like that, so Alfred and I came up with a plan so cunning, well, it seemed so at that time, but now that I think about it, it was really stupid. We were renting an apartment where Johnny supposedly was staying, so we decided to make it look like a break-in and murder kind of gig. Celebrities are both loved and hated, which made the plan believable. We thrashed the place, broke the window and sprayed the blood we had stolen - we left money at the reception as compensation, though, but seriously: what were we thinking breaking into a hospital?! - along the walls, so it would look like a brutal murder; we knew the blood had come from different donors, which probably caused even more confusion. We even put a lot of it in drags and smeared it along the floor for it to show like Johnny's corpse had been dragged out the window. After days of not paying rent, the house manager went to see if there are people in the apartment and came across the scene Alfred and I had fabricated. I still have the newspaper cut Alfred sent me back to England." Arthur pointed at a framed article which read "Johnny Dreams' mysterious death, possibly involving dozens of people! Body and the famous guitar still remain to be found!". Francis was amazed. "I would have never guessed you to be the young reckless type," he laughed and looked at other photos of Arthur posing as Mr. Dreams. "Is that the guitar?" he asked when looking at the instrument. "Yeah, that's the one," Arthur smiled. "It was far too expensive and high quality to just leave it there. Plus it added more to the mysterious murder." Francis couldn't help but to feel that Arthur felt much more at ease now that he had told him if not everything, then the most cardinal events of his life. He went to sit down at the big armchair in the corner when he noticed a basket full of yarn on an end table next to it. In it also were half-finished gloves made from the same colors as the scarf he had received from Arthur. "You know, you never did told me the name of the store where you got me that scarf," he said, lifting the gloves. "Could it be "Kirkland's Knitting's" or something like that?" Flustered, Arthur took the gloves from his hands. "Shut up," he said gruffly and put them back in the basket. "You look too cute when you're offended," Francis laughed before his mind going blank. "Why did I just say that?" he thought furiously, but a moment later he was at ease, knowing that Arthur hadn't heard him. "Don't tell a soul!" Arthur threatened him and Francis shook his head. "Don't worry and you shouldn't be ashamed of something like that; I think it's amazing if a person can do such nice things with his own hands. Are the rest of your clothes also done by yourself?" "Some," Arthur said, blushing from feeling content and cursing himself for doing so. Having decided it was better to change the topic, Francis asked about all the other photos and throughout the evening Arthur told him about all of his travels, adventures and the people he had met.


	10. Chapter 10

It was halfway through December and once again Francis was at Arthur's place. They were currently trying to collect all of the stickers from the Japan level and chattering about simple things when Christmas came up. "You got any plans for Christmas and New Year's?" Francis asked when Arthur had returned from the kitchen with some grapes. "Well, as always, I'm spending Christmas with my family," he replied as he sat down on the floor, "but no plans about New Year's yet. What about you?" "Same," Francis only replied, leisuring on the floor with one hand under his head and the other holding grapes which he slowly ate. "Hey... How about we spend New Year's Eve abroad? You, me, Antonio, Gilbert, Kiku, Alfred... why not go somewhere? That is, if we're not planning anything super-expensive," Arthur came up with an idea. Francis sat up, thinking and after a while he looked at Arthur, who was slightly nervous that maybe his idea was a dumb one. "We should go to the southern hemisphere then, it would be warm to party there," he suddenly said, causing Arthur to break into laughter. "Umm, I guess?" he giggled as he watched Francis get even more excited. Soon he was checking out the best destinations on Arthur's laptop and springing up different ideas what to do and where to go there. Arthur turned off the PS3, the telly, and sat beside Francis on the couch. "Hey, click on that one," he pointed at a link. Francis opened RyanAir's homepage and they both immediately noticed a large ad proclaiming huge discounts on flights to Rio de Janeiro. "It's a 12-hour flight," Francis said, looking at the timetable. "But it's cheap. And I've always wanted to visit Rio," Arthur said, looking at the tickets. "Think about it," he tried to convince, eyes on Francis, "Rio is a very colorful city. There's a lot to do, many people to meet, all those sights to see, Brazilian kitchen... All of us would have a lot of fun there." Francis knew Arthur thought he wasn't interested in going there, but on the contrary, he wanted to go there himself. He had just frozen after noticing how comfortable he felt with Arthur sitting so close to him. "And it's not even that close," he thought, feeling a little dreadful, "why am I even thinking of such things?!". "You're right, Rio does sound good," he managed to pull himself together. "Great!" Arthur joyed and his joy was contagious. Francis was also happy and excited, knowing that if the six of them would go somewhere to have fun, lots of silly adventures would probably await them.

After having spent an enjoyable Christmas with their families, they were both back in London. They were currently having lunch at Francis' place when New Year's Eve popped up again. "So, I talked to Antonio and Gilbert," Francis said, pouring himself some very aromatic coffee to which Arthur frowned at. "They're currently at their respective homelands, Spain and Germany, but they were both happy and quite eager about the idea of spending New Year's in Rio. They would meet us there, they'll go on a flight from Barcelona. Gilbert will go with Antonio separately." "Do you keep in touch with them often?" Arthur asked, nibbling on a croissant. "Yes, we talk almost every day. It's just impossible not to keep in touch with them, they are too humorous for that," Francis replied and smirked, remembering all the good times he had had with them. "You just have to tell me someday about some of the silly things you've done together. Then again, I'm not so sure I'm still ready for your 18+ or NSFL stories," Arthur laughed and shook his hand lazily in the air. Grinning, Francis said that those were stories best told with all three of them and a bottle of wine. "What about Alfred and Kiku? Have you spoken with them?" "It's practically the same thing with them, really," the Brit said, "Kiku is visiting his family in Japan and Alfred is back in America. They promised to meet us in Rio as well. Guess we're the only two loners heading off from London, Francis." "I'm glad," the Frenchman chuckled, "I was a little worried how Antonio and Gilbert would behave on the plane. They like to pick on you, if you haven't noticed yet." "Oh yes, I've noticed," Arthur sighed, "but there's nothing to it. I know it's all just harmless fun, but... some phonecalls have crossed the line a bit and I've gotten mad at them for talking such trash of you." "Really?" Francis sat up tense, not leisuring on the chair anymore and looked worried. "Well, yes. It's a little awkward, really," Arthur sighed shyly, but Francis wasn't shaken from that. "I swear, if they said something really awful, I'm going to kill them," he said seriously and Arthur couldn't help but to laugh at him. "They rarely say things like that and trust me, I don't believe a word of it-" "Just tell me what they've said, Arthùr," Francis interrupted him and tared straight into his eyes. "I'm going to give you a soft overview then. Well... sometimes they ask if you've sneaked to my bed yet." Francis was dumbfounded. "What?" Arthur laughed, almost tearing up. "Yeah, well, like they've told me and as much I've noticed, you're quite the playboy, you know? You'd probably lost count if you tried to read up all the women you've slept with whilst I can count them all on one hand," he giggled. Francis banged his head against the table, closely missing his plate. "And are you suddenly a woman now that I'd try to seduce you?" he asked, embarrassed of his friends. "No, but they said I am probably an 8.5/10 (Gilbert tried to put a smaller score) after your standards and that you fall in love with all things beautiful. Hah, I'm not beautiful," he gruffed and Francis looked at him, uncertain. Arthur grinned. "But I am handsome and at least a 10/10." He started laughing and Francis couldn't help but to join him. He was glad the Brit didn't take his stupid friends seriously and he really respected him for stepping up against them.

It was 3 in the morning of the 28th and Arthur was shivering in front of their apartment block wearing a light jacket in -12 degrees Celsius. "Where is he? He could at least suffer alongside me," he cursed Francis and rubbed his arms to get more warm. He had given up sitting on his suitcase and started walking and skipping around for warmth, but he felt like it wasn't working. He was just about to go banging behind Francis' door when the latter stepped out the front door, yawning and dragging his red suitcase. "Bonjour," he said with a sleepy voice and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "The taxi still isn't here?" "No," Arthur shuddered and watched as Francis came to stand beside him. "Really cold, isn't it?" Francis said, lighting a cigarette; Arthur rolled his eyes. "You don't say." After a minute or two the taxi finally arrived. Hurriedly, they lifted their suitcases to the trunk and sat inside. "To Heathrow, please," Arthur said and rubbed his fingers to warm them up again. "Why does every flight have to be on such stupid times? Why couldn't it be 5PM instead of 5AM?" Francis yawned. "Because of reasons," Arthur also yawned, folded his arms and rested his head against the window. Half-awake he listened to Francis rant about airports for about a half an hour more when they arrived at the airport. Having paid for the ride and taken their luggage, the two stepped in to a busy airport. "You've departed and arrived in Heathrow so far, right?" Arthur asked when he observed Francis look around himself in confusion. "Yeah, it's usually nearly empty at a time like this," he murmured, searching for the correct terminal. After going through the whole procedure - getting their tickets, giving their luggage and passing the security check -, they sat down at a little cafe in the G-terminal. "Guess we found the good spot," Francis said when they were enjoying tea and coffee under a window. "The G-spot, get it?" he explained when Arthur gave him a questioning look. "My God, you have such stupid jokes, Francis," the Brit laughed, almost spilling his drink. Having finished their drinks, they heard a message from the speakers informing that their plane was ready to disembark in 45 minutes, which meant they could get on now. "Great timing," Francis said when they left for the terminal gates. There were a lot of people since this jumbo-jet first came from Amsterdam and the transfer was held in London. "It's been a while since I've flied with such a big plane," Arthur said to Francis when they showed their tickets to the flight attendant. They climbed to the second floor of the plane and went to the back of it where their seats were located. "Hey, no fair, I wanted a window seat," Francis exclaimed jokingly as they sat on their assigned seats. "Deal with it," Arthur laughed and told him that they can switch places every now and then. "So many people came on the plane but the tail is nearly empty," Francis murmured when the plane had set off. "I guess most of the people stayed in London," Arthur replied and took one of the plaids the flight attendants were handing out. Francis took one too, but just to fight against the chill, not for sleeping. "I can't sleep during flights," he explained to Arthur who had already snuggled into it. "Sucks to be you then, we're going to fly for 12 hours. Plus the timezone difference will get to you, too," he said compassionately. "Guess you didn't sleep at all tonight," Francis softly whispered a little later when the Brit was deep asleep and had rested his head on Francis' shoulder. He asked for a pillow from an attendant passing by and a minute later he gently lifted Arthur's head against the wall onto a pillow. Watching him calmly breathe, he took out his walkman and a book to spend some time until Arthur woke up.


	11. Chapter 11

It was 11PM the previous day when their plane finally landed. Having exited the plane with slightly sore backs and wobbling feet, Francis and Arthur were immediately blown off by the heat. "God, I'm still used to the plane's air-conditioning," Arthur said, gasping for air in the stifling climate, while they walked among other tourists inside to the airport. "There's way too many people in here," Francis complained, unbuttoning the first 4 buttons of his shirt. "Now where are those two morons?" Antonio and Gilbert had arrived a day earlier and had promised to take care of the hotel business. They spotted them on the far right, hitting on a few girls at the bar. Just when they were almost with them, the women left. "Great going," Antonio hit Gilbert against the back of his head. "Relax, we'll be here for at least a week, you'll get your chance to dust off the spiderwebs from your wiener. Oh, hey guys! Enjoyed your flight?" Gilbert asked happily, häving noticed the two. "Not really," Francis murmured and yawned. "I am so tired, I hope you got us a nice hotel with great beds." "Of course," Antonio grinned. "Nothing too expensive, right?" Arthur asked worriedly. "Not at all," the Prussian added and the four of them headed towards the parking lot, where Antonio's rental car was parked. "It's so hot," Francis said after having lifted the luggage to the trunk and having sat in the back with Arthur. "Really?" Antonio asked, surprised and turned out to the highway. As a typical Spaniard, he was also accustomed to warmer climates and both he and Gilbert were wearing far lighter clothes than Arthur and Francis were. "It's just like I imagined it to be," Arthur said to himself when watching the city glow, the orange-blue sky with mountains in the background. "Man, we've scouted so many great places already," Gilbert laughed having turned down all the windows. "This is going to be so awesome." Arthur was happy his idea was liked by his friends, although the idea came on an impulse. He was really glad he had met Francis, because he was sure he wouldn't be in Rio at the moment if not. "It's not only about Rio though," he thought when looking at Francis who was currently trying to stretch himself in the small car, "it's him in general." Francis noticed Arthur looking at him and asked if something's wrong. Arthur shook his head. "I just wanted to say "thank you"." Francis smiled. "No need to thank me, Angleterre." Antonio and Gilbert gave each other a meaningful look in the front and tried hard not to laugh.

After 45 minutes of driving they pulled up in front of a musty-looking place after having turned off from the main street in the center of the city. "That's... a cheap motel, not a nice hotel," Francis said staring at it, having stepped out of the car. "Oh, come on," Antonio pouted, "it's a charming little place! Trust me, you'll understand when we're inside!" The Londonians took their luggage and stepped in with the other two. The lobby looked just like from a movie: dusty, shabby, worn-out and slightly dilapidated. "Who would've thought that Gilbert is fluent in Portuguese," Antonio murmured when the light-haired man went to speak with the old tanned woman at the reception. "Well, here's your key," he tossed it to Arthur after having returned. "You're staying in the same room," he answered Francis' questioning look. "So are we, come on, we'll show you where we're staying," Antonio said and headed up the stairs, the others following him. Passing narrow and murky corridors, they stopped in front of the room #14. Antonio opened it and stepped in with Gilbert, Arthur and Francis just checked the tiny room over the doorway. Like everything in this hotel, this room was also musty and looked like it was going to fall apart. Dirty wooden flooring, tacky wallpaper peeling off the walls and plaster crumbling from the ceiling, two dirty windows on one wall, two beds with striped spring-mattresses, bed-linen neatly folded on it, against the other wall. The door leading to the bathroom was in the forth wall and the whole room was lit by a single ready-to-die-out ceiling-lamp. All in all, it was a plain-looking room, perfect if you were tired and not caring where, you just wanted to sleep for a few hours. "Your room is in the exact same condition," Gilbert said, standing in the middle of their room. Francis sighed. "I guess that'll do for now," he said and wished them both good night. "See you tomorrow at 10 at the lobby!" Gilbert chuckled when Arthur closed the door. They continued along the long corridor and went up another set of stairs before arriving at room #22. After some trouble with the lock, they finally managed to open the door. They stared into the room dumbfounded, still not entering. "Of course," Francis cursed and stormed off back to room #14, leaving Arthur in the dark hallway. An elderly woman wanted to pass, so he took their suitcases and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He opened the windows to air the dusty room and sighing, he sat on the king-sized bed.

"Such morons," Francis cursed as he was changing his clothes. "Well, at least the receptionist was willing to compensate it for us with an extra blanket and pillows," Arthur replied, looking out the window to see children run to their homes after the whole day of playing in the city. It was a slightly poor neighborhood, everyone earned enough just to get by. Although Rio de Janeiro is known as a thriving city, it has its own ghettos and slums too, as do many cities. "I hope Bosey is okay," he said quietly after noticing a few dogs rummage through the bins. "Where did you leave him?" Francis asked and hopped on to the bed, the springs creaking under the weight of a man. "This would make a poor motel for a honeymoon," he said jokingly and Arthur, having already changed his clothes, flicked off the light and joined him. "I left Bosey with Scottie. He's easy enough for my brother to handle." The dark room was dimly lit by the streetlights and Arthur could feel Francis' presence next to him. He turned his back to him and grabbed most of the pillows, since the Frenchman had said he only needed one. "Why do you need so many of them?" Francis asked quietly, trying to glimpse at Arthur. "I just... like to sleep with a lot of pillows," he only replied and wished him good-night. After half an hour Francis was sure Arthur had fallen asleep, judging by the steady breathing coming from his right. Cautiously, not to cause any noise, he sat up and stretched himself over the Brit to see what he was doing with the pillows. He was surprised to see that most of them were set alongside his body as a blockage and he was also hugging two of them. "It must be the feeling of loneliness," he thought to himself sadly, watching Arthur sleep. On a sudden impulse he gently rid Arthur of all the pillows and laid back down. "What if…" he thought, breathing a little heavily. After a short while Arthur started shifting in his sleep and turned around to face Francis. His heart pounding, the Frenchman kept looking and waiting what he would do next. Slowly but surely, as if sensing the extra heat through his sleep, he started to make his way towards Francis. A little while later he was snuggling against Francis' chest, breathing slowly and calmly. Francis felt his face turn red when he felt the Brit's warmth against him. His heart beating fast, he put his arms around the other man, holding him closer. "The things I do for a senise of closeness," he thought to himself when he closed his eyes, his head resting against Arthur's.


	12. Chapter 12

The next day something miraculous happened that would never be repeated again: Francis had awoken before Arthur had. He found the Brit still sweetly sleeping in his arms and he couldn't help but to smile at the fact how innocent he looked, to his dismay or not. He gently got up and glimpsed at the bed. It seemed as though Arthur had just tossed and shifted the pillows in his sleep and there was no evidence what-so-ever as to what had happened during the night. Francis stretched himself and went to have a shower to clear his head of every little silly thought that had sneaked into his mind.

Arthur woke up due to a sudden yelp coming from the bathroom. He could hear French cursing while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "These beds are more comfortable than they let themselves out to be," he yawned and picked up the pillows from the floor. He opened the window and was happy to see that the day was going to be a beautiful one. Later that day Kiku will arrive, so they had to go to the airport again. He thought that he and the Spaniard should meet up with him, so the others could search for a slightly more comfortable hotel. He started to look through the maps and sightseeing guides he had grabbed from the airport when Francis emerged from the bathroom. "I should warn you that the water is pure ice," the Frenchman exclaimed and came to stand next to Arthur under the warm breeze coming from the window. "We have to get used to it, Hell's probably frozen all over too," the Brit answered and earned a chuckle from the other man. He looked at the map Arthur was studying and noted that circles had been drawn around some of the sights. "Places you'd like to visit?" Francis asked and smiled at the thought that at least one of all of them had put some thought into this trip. "Yes," Arthur muttered and kept looking at the maps, his brow furrowed. "I just hope that you guys don't have anything against walking, because I would much rather go through the boulevards and little streets rather than drive down the busy main road." Francis encouraged him that it won't be any trouble and that he was sure the others would accept that idea without objections as well. Content, Arthur went to the shower as well, leaving Francis to dry himself and get dressed.

About an hour later they were both banging on the door of Antonio's and Gilbert's room. They were supposed to meet each other at the front desk at 10 o'clock and after a half an hour of waiting they were still nowhere in sight. They were suddenly drawn aback when an angry Portuguese man opened the door and started to yell and wave hands at them. Having decided it was best to abandon their vengeful cause, Francis and Arthur swiftly escaped and soon they were walking through the Romesque strelets, searching for a small cafe or a bistro to have breakfast in. "I can't believe it," Francis cursed after he hung up on an another unanswered call. Neither Antonio or Gilbert were answering their phones and having left their friends without informing them was a cruel joke. Arthur agreed with Francis and said it was just best to get a place to rest and fuel up before thinking what to do next. A little while later they were sitting on the balcony of a small cafe and after having finished their meal they had somehow ordered with Arthur's Portuguese dictionary, they started to look at the map again. "God, this city is huge," Arthur sighed, frustrated. "It is, mon ami, but doesn't Alfred know of this city? I remember him saying he visits Brazil quite often," Francis glanced at Arthur who started to look for his cousin's number. After 10 minutes of constant calling there was still no answer. Feeling a little out of the blue, he ordered another cup of iced tea. "Worry not, Arthùr, let's just enjoy Rio," Francis smiled and patted him on the back. "Let's just start with the places you want to go to, we're bound to see them on the way or near the sights. And if not, well... we'll just spend the New Year's without them, with only the four of us."


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh man, this is the perfect place, don't you agree?" "Dude, I think it's been abandoned for a reason."

Antonio and Gilbert had left the motel they were supposed to stay in early in the morning for a good reason: they were sick of the place. "I swear to God, if another cockroach runs over my face, I will pack my shit and get out of here," Gilbert had exclaimed in the middle of the night. A few hours later they had already put their suitcases and themselves into the rental car and were on their merry way. They had driven for some time when they finally stopped just outside of town. Antonio had noticed a grand mansion on top of a cliff and ignoring all signs forbidding entry and warnings of rolling rocks and such, they drove to it. Having stepped out of the car, they gazed the house in both awe and anxiety.

"Looks top notch. Seems fancy and it's definitely cheap," Gilbert said and started to walk to the front door. "D-don't!" Antonio yelled, his voice echoing back from the valley and the mountains. The other man looked at him with a shit-eating grin, as if he knew what the Spaniard was so afraid of. "Oh, I see how it is," he chuckled darkly. "You're afraid of ghosts, huh? Booo!" He jokingly mocked Antonio who was growing ever more frustrated. "No, I'm not! I just dislike the idea of spending my holidays in a God-forsaken place like this!" he smacked Gilbert against the head. Praying to Ave Maria and kissing the small silver cross hanging around his neck, he went in front of the Prussian inside the house, just to show how brave he was. Rolling his eyes and grinning like crazy, the other man followed him.

The inside was just like something you'd expect from a place like this. Well furbished and grand in its days, it now had been left to collect dust for a good 40 years or so. Looking just as if a scene from a horror movie, the grand stairs in front of them and even the whole interior was in shades of dark grey due to the only light coming from the small crease in the front door; the big windows that supposedly opened to the magnificent valley-view behind the house were nailed shut. "Like a real mansion of death, huh?" Gilbert whispered and nudged Antonio between the ribs, causing the latter to yelp and jump from the surprise. "Shut up!" he exclaimed, his whisper sounding ever so loud in the morbidly silent building. "Don't do that!" Gilbert started walking towards the stairs, Antonio closely following, when he suddenly stopped. "Feel the draft?" he asked, looking around suspiciously. "I said DON'T," the Spaniard shuddered and tugged onto the other's sleeve. "Let's just go. I feel like we're being watched or something." "Alright, stop whining, wimp," Gilbert snapped, although also growing slightly anxious, and left the mansion with him. "Let's go get the others as well and then come back with the whole lot. Equipped with all kinds of stuff like crowbars, flashlights and food, of course," he smiled once back in the car. Antonio wasn't too happy about the idea, though - he was only willing to come to that dreadful sleepover if they brought a ton of salt with them for protection from all sorts of supernatural beings.

Once back in the motel where they had left their two friends, they learned from the receptionist that the two were already gone. "Great," Gilbert grumbled, clearly unhappy of being abandoned just like that. "Maybe we should have answered Francis' calls?" Antonio asked when they were back outside, sitting on sandy stairs in the shade from the burning Sun. "Maybe," the white-haired man only muttered and continued to whine how he'd like a nice cold beer at the moment.

At the same time Francis and Arthur were enjoying themselves and had in fact forgotten about their two renegade friends. They had accidentally hopped onto a tourist bus filled with Korean elderly and were on their way to the Sugar Loaf mountain, all the while eating some delicious yakwa and playing bridge. "Look!" Arthur exclaimed in awe and pointed out of the open window towards the extraordinarily shaped mountains and the huge statue Cristo Redentor. "We're honestly going on top of those?" Francis asked, swallowing hard at his imagination of what the transportation trolleys there would look like. It's not like he wasn't good with heights or anything; he just liked to stand on safe, non-wobbly land. "Can't wait," the Brit smiled and continued to listen to a small elderly woman ramble on about the heat. Francis took a lot of photos that day, keeping Arthur in mind: he wanted the happy memories hanging on the walls in his office overweigh the not-so-happy ones even more than they already started to do.


	14. Chapter 14

Kiku was standing in the middle of the always busy Galeão International Airport, frantically looking around himself. Not one familiar face in sight, he sighed sadly and went to sit on a nearby bench. "Sure, they joked about it, but..." he muttered to himself while searching for his cellphone, "I never would have guessed they'd actually forget about me."

Arthur and Francis were currently sitting at a restaurant dedicated to traditional Brazilian cuisine when the Brit's phone started to ring. With a horrified look he stared at the blinking screen and glanced at his questioning friend when he slowly lifted the cell to his ear. "Yes, Kiku?" Francis slapped himself on the forehead as he suddenly remembered they were supposed to meet their Japanese friend at the airport, but having visited all the amazing places Rio had to offer and having been overwhelmed from the colorful culture (and not to mention all the fun they've been having), they had completely forgotten about their duty. He sighed as he also remembered that they had forgotten to look for a nicer place to stay at. He decided to take the initiative and also took out his cellphone to talk to his friend. He dialed Antonio's number and decided to persuade the Spaniard to go to the airport while Arthur was apologetically explaining his actions to Kiku. As Francis had suspected, the call had fallen to deaf ears: Antonio wasn't picking up. Worringly, he decided to try for Gilbert instead and he sighed in relief when the latter answered. "Well, look who it is!" came a comically hurt shout from the other end as Gilbert started to rant and blame Francis and Arthur for leaving without notice. Knowing that there was no time to waste on arguing, the Frenchman interrupted the Prussian and asked him whether he was with Antonio. "It's always about Antonio, huh? You've always liked him more than me," the white-haired man exclaimed with a bitterly joking tone and the next moment Antonio's voice was heard over the phone. "Heya, Francis, how can I help you?" "Antonio, I need you to go to the Galeão International Airport and pick Kiku up. He has arrived in Rio, but we forgot to go to the airport in time. Think you could do it for us?" Francis asked, biting his lower lip. Seeing that Arthur was much calmer than before gave him a feeling of encouragement; he probably had managed to talk things through with Kiku and Francis hoped things would go just as smoothly with Antonio. "Oh yeah, that," he heard his friend drawl on the other end. "Of course. Right now?" "Yes," Francis said, smiling victoriously. "Sure thing," Antonio only replied and ended the call. Francis told Arthur of the good news who happily forwarded them to Kiku. The Japanese thanked him and apologized for any inconvenience he might had caused to which the Brit rolled his eyes and also ended the call. "I didn't clear up the motel-thing with them yet, I decided we could apprehend them later," Francis told Arthur and took a sip of red wine he had ordered to accompany their delicious feijoada. Arthur thought it was sensible as Kiku was waiting in a completely foreign place he had no sense of orientation in. They decided to search for a better hotel after having finished their meal and went to the local tourist information center.

About an hour later they all met in front of the dusty motel and Arthur greeted his long-time friend with a bright smile on his face. Kiku suspiciously peered at the inn and having noticed Francis chuckle to himself, he quickly apologized. "I'm sure it has lots of hidden charms!" he exclaimed hastily and bowed his head. Francis shrugged it off and replied that there was nothing to be sorry about. "Actually we are here only to take our luggage and check ourselves out from here." "I'm guessing you've found a better place to stay at?" Gilbert asked, ready to jump in with his mansion-idea. Arthur nodded and told them he'd tell them more about it after Francis and him had retrieved their belongings. Half an hour later they all - the luggage and the five men - were crammed into Antonio's little rental car and were on their way to a just opened guest house, an amazing find: a cheap and beautiful housing facility in the bohemian neighborhood of Santa Teresa, which was only a few-minute walk away from major transportation stops such as the buses and trains to take them to the most famous sites of Rio de Janeiro. Francis understood, why Antonio and Gilbert hadn't found the place on their own - the 30's house was actually owned by a nice Croatian senior couple and Francis and Arthur just happened to stumble upon it by mistake: they had left the information center after growing tired of hearing about only the super-expensive five-star hotels or the hostels for backpackers and after having read the map wrong, they had found themselves in tranquil Santa Teresa -, but still wanted to know why the two had decided on a motel like that. After having listened to some minutes of senseless explaining, he gave up and decided just to drop the subject. Arthur also decided it was pointless to try and get an adequate answer to the question why they had abandoned them before in such a manner and they just chatted about minor things until they pulled into Rua Andrès Belo street. It was a lush street, filled with all sorts of tropical trees and bushes, since it was a residential area where tourists didn't usually end up in. That was what had appealed most to Arthur and after having had a lovely chat with the people who owned the place, they managed to get the place for a very reasonable price. "The belle vieille dame said we don't have to worry about our meals, since she will be cooking for us," Francis told their friends happily and went to greet the two elders who were waiting at the doorstep. "Are we the only ones staying here?" Kiku asked Arthur when he helped him lift the luggage off the car. The Brit nodded and explained that the two had decided to lend their house as a place to stay just the day before. They all went inside the bright yellow house surrounded by green vegetative and thanked the couple for letting them stay over.

After having had an enjoyable home-cooked dinner, the five went to leisure around the garden. Feeling too full to move, they sat down into big woven chairs filled with soft pillows and told each other of the day they had had. Gilbert and Antonio told the other three of the "haunted" mansion they had found. "We just have to check it out. You know, for adventure's sake!" Gilbert explained while picking his pearly whites with a toothpick. "Antonio doesn't seem that interested..." Arthur pointed out to Gilbert's dismay. "It's just... I have no idea what I'm supposed to gain from that sort of an... experience. It could be dangerous," the Spaniard tried to reason to which the Prussian interrupted with an argument saying that adrenaline is a cheap and an awesome drug. "Maybe we should vote?" Kiku suggested and after having done just that, Antonio sighed as he had lost. "When do you think we should check it out?" Francis asked and lit a cigarette, having noticed that the old man keeping the place was smoking a cigar, so he thought smoking was allowed. "At night, probably," Kiku huffed and earned an approving look from Gilbert. "What, tonight? No-no-no, I'd like to sleep, I'm terribly tired," Arthur protested and gazed at the orangeish sky up above. Francis agreed and explained that they had walked a lot that day and Kiku had had a long flight. "Fine, pussies," Gilbert sighed and everyone agreed to go there the next night. A little while later the old woman came to them and informed them that the beds have been prepared. Having thanked her they decided to check out the rooms. They had divided themselves as such: Antonio, Gilbert and Francis in one room and Arthur, Kiku and Alfred, who'd be arriving a few days later, were to stay in the other. After having climbed the stairs to the third floor (the couple stayed on the second floor and the bathroom was there, while the kitchen, dining and lounge area were on the first), they went to their bedrooms. They were across each other and were sort of small, but spacious enough for three men to fit in and move about well.

The room Arthur and Kiku (and Alfred) were staying in was colored in a mild chocolate brown tone and also had brown flooring with different raggy carpets on it. Big windows were covered with striped green curtains and opened to the garden. The beds were springy and felt nice. There also was a small soft orange couch in the corner with a table in front of it, big pillows on the ground surrounding it. It was a lovely room and the signs showing it had been used by the Croatian couple's family actually made it lovelier, gave a sense of secure feeling of home. The bad trio's bedroom was painted with golden yellow and had brown wooden flooring. The beds were low and soft and the bed-linen had a "homey" feeling to it; it was in different colors and patterns and the pillows didn't match the blanket like they would in a fancy hotel or such. They liked that and overall the room had a comfortable and sweet feel to it, the various old books and photos on the shelves and cupboards giving it a more sentimental value. Big windows opened to the quiet street and were covered with thick burgundy curtains. Although the two rooms differed from one another in coloration and furniture, they both gave out a feeling of home, which they all liked. All 5 felt comfortable moving about in the house and were very happy and thankful for the two pensioners for letting them stay in a wonderful place such as that.

Arthur and Kiku, both completely exhausted from their day, had already gone to bed, but the other three were still playing some Chinese poker in their room. Francis was currently on a winning streak when Gilbert decided to blow off some steam. "Enjoyed last night, I reckon?" he asked with a smug smile to which the Frenchman only furrowed his brow. "I know where you're going with this, Gilbert, and I do not like it," he answered and shamelessly laughed as he watched Antonio pick up almost an entire deck of cards. "I heard you had a lot of fun with Arthur today," Gilbert continued to press, still having a stupid smile on his face. "So what if I did?" Francis asked, becoming irritated by his friend's smug tone. "Nothing, nothing," the Prussian chuckled and kept grinning to himself. "Oh, come on!" Antonio exclaimed as he had to pick up all the cards again after just having got rid of them. "Oh, and Gilbert, honey? Drop the subject already, are you really that jealous of Francis having other friends besides us?" he added and earned an approving look from Francis. "Oui, you hang out with a lot of people too when we're not around." "Ugh, I'm just teasing, you stuck-ups," Gilbert laughed and the two knew he was actually being honest. After having played a few more rounds, they also decided to go to bed. "Tomorrow, then. We have to ask the old couple where a store near here is," Gilbert yawned from between the covers and the three fell asleep soon after that.


	15. Chapter 15

Arthur woke up to the old woman gently nudging him. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he sat up and asked if something was wrong. "Oh, no-no, it's just breakfast," the old woman smiled and went to wake the other three up. Kiku was already dressing up and asked Arthur whether he slept well or not. "The beds are just perfect for a night's sleep," the Brit answered stretching himself. His friend agreed and went downstairs, leaving him to finish dressing.

Gilbert shot his eyes open the minute he smelt food through his sleep. The old lady didn't even have a chance to wake the other two up - Gilbert already proceeded to give Antonio and Francis his cruel wake-up call (which in essence practically means jumping on their bed and pouring bottles of water to their sleepy faces). After about 10 minutes of lying on the floor after being punched in the gut, he stood up and went to wash off the black penises off his face. Luckily, they haven't drawn them with a permanent marker, since Francis and Antonio both agreed that it wouldn't go well with their overall image. Having washed and dressed himself, he proceeded downstairs where the others were already enjoying their delicious breakfast. "There you are," Arthur smiled while spreading some garlic butter on a piece of warm bread. "Oh, forgive me, Artie," Gilbert said as he sat down and gave his two best friends a mean look, "I just couldn't get off the floor." Antonio and Francis tried hard not to snort a laugh whilst drinking their coffee. "I already talked to the owners. They marked the supermarket's location on my map, too," Kiku said, content, and proceeded to type something in his PDA. A little while later he said: "Alfred missed his flight." Arthur facepalmed and Antonio let out a slight laugh. "Typical," was all the Brit said and drank another glass of orange juice. "What time will we go to the mansion, oh capitaine?" Francis asked Gilbert with a grin as the white-haired man ate a piece of grapefruit and let out a quite sour expression. "When it's dark," he only coughed and took some sweet orange jam instead. They finished their breakfast in about 15 minutes and set out to discover the more common areas of Rio.

The morning was beautiful. The Sun was shining in the clear blue sky, people were minding their own business with smiling faces in their gardens and the careless and happy feeling the 5 all shared was giving them the mood boost they'd need before a potentially nerve-wrecking evening. "So, what's on the list?" Antonio asked with his mouth full, munching on a huge sweet passion fruit. Kiku pulled out a piece of paper from his little hipsack and recited the things they'd need. "Flashlights and batteries, salt, a knife, candles and matches, something to eat and drink, some paper and pencils... and... other miscellaneous things we think... we might need?" "Candles, paper and pencils? Not to mention the highly suspicious last bit at the end." Arthur turned around and cocked an eyebrow towards Gilbert. "Why on earth would we need candles if we're going to buy some torches and batteries?" Gilbert scuffed and told Kiku to add sleeping bags to the list as well. "W-we're going to stay there? Are you mad?" Antonio choked on his fruit and looked at his friend. "I see what he's getting at," Francis furrowed his brow and laughed a little while later. "Well, I don't," huffed Arthur next to him, "I don't see the need to get adrenaline-high by spending a particularly unpleasant night at a ready-to-topple house in the middle of nowhere."

A little while later they arrived at a nice convenience store and entered it in high spirits, not minding the other misunderstandings and quarrels they also had on the way there after the feud about the shopping list. Because it was just 11 AM, there weren't many people there and they managed to get everything they needed and take some photos nicely. Gilbert took care of dealing with the cashier due to his unrivaled skills in Portuguese, arter which they decided to head back to the guesthouse to pack their stuff ready for adventure and then just chill until it was time to go. "Ah, don't look so down, Gilbert," Francis said and nudged the man, "we'll just take some blankets and rugs instead the sleeping bags." Kiku and Arthur both curiously rummaged through the bags full of groceries. "There are so many things here I haven't even heard of, not to mention haven't eaten," the Brit awed and smiled while looking at different jars, packages, bottles and some dishes. Francis couldn't help but to break out a small laughter - he had already forgotten how new ingredients may seem to less active cookers than himself, who has cooked so many different dishes in his life. Gilbert looked at his friends feeling content. "Oh yes, tonight's going to be great," he sighed to himself with a smile and continued to tease Antonio.

After arriving back at the house they packed all the equipment they'd need. Since Francis was decided as the most culinary, he was in charge of packing the foodstuff (to which he obviously frowned). Gilbert packed the flashlights and other stuff they'd need "excavating" the place and Kiku took care of managing the blankets (because if there's anyone who knows about futons, it's that guy). Their backpacks by the door, they decided to play cards for a few hours before moving out. Going to the store and packing had taken more time than they thought it would and since the mansion was an hour and a half drive away from the house, not to mention the awful traffic they'd encounter in the middle of Rio, they estimated their time of arrival to be about eleven o'clock or so, since they wanted to have dinner here and check out a few places on the main street before going too. Alfred was going to catch the plane next morning and since he'd be coming from Washington, it wouldn't take too long for him to arrive in Brazil. The next day was the 31st of December anyway, so the places they were to seek out were related to spending and celebrating New Year's Eve. Just as Arthur had already thrashed his friends in their fifth game of poker, the old man called them for dinner from downstairs. "Soon," Gilbert grinned and laughed evilly as he watched Antonio and Kiku get anxious, looking outside. "Ah, don't worry, mes amis," Francis said heartedly, "he's just trying to put you in a frightened mood before we even arrive there." "I saw the place, I know what it's like," Antonio swallowed and sighing heavily, he started to climb down the stairs. After given a meaningful look full of I-hope-Gilbert-won't-make-the-exploration-awkward- and-I'm-sorry-if-he-does emotions to Francis, Arthur followed him. "Oh-la-la, what was that misty-eyed moment just back there?" Gilbert asked grinning after Kiku had went too. Francis just rolled eyes and pushed Gilbert towards the stairs.


	16. Chapter 16

A small note before you begin reading: the next few chapters will be a little weird since I promised my sister I would include the Midnight Game in this fic. I know that they probably won't be scary, but if anything, I hope they'll get some laughs or „awws" from you.

"Hey, you mind reading this to everyone?" Gilbert lazily asked and handed a sheet of paper to Arthur from the passenger seat. "Why me?" the Brit questioned while glimpsing at the wall of text on the sheet. "It's that nasal British voice of yours - Francis loves to hear it." The man in question was dumbfounded and soon irritated, but gave up - he knew there was no point in arguing due to the fact that Kiku and, most importantly, Arthur, understood it wasn't true and the fact that Gilbert closed his ears to every counterargument. He only shot a look full of mild hatred towards the Prussian and sighed tiredly. "Quel crétin!" he only muttered and continued to look at the scenery flying past the open window. Arthur cleared his throat and proceeded to read the text on the paper.

"The Midnight Game," he only managed to say when Antonio shrieked in terror and almost drove off the road. He earned a slap against the back of his head from Gilbert, who told Arthur to continue. Francis had already palmed his face - he didn't think his white-haired friend would actually go through with that game. "Judging by the reactions of you three, I'm guessing Arthur and I are the only ones here who have no idea what that game is," Kiku said and looked at Antonio suspiciously. "Just proceed, Artie," Gilbert said, annoyed, to which the Brit continued.

"Do not play the midnight game. It is very dangerous. There is a very real chance of death for those who play the Midnight Game and there is an even greater chance that it will drive you insane. It is highly recommended that you DO NOT PLAY THE MIDNIGHT GAME. If you do choose do play, you do so at your own risk. ... Is this a joke?" Gilbert turned around in his seat and looked at Arthur. "What do you mean?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Do you honestly believe a game could drive a man insane? I've heard of poker ruining you but something called "The Midnight Game"? What do we do there - try and kill each other?" Arthur cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms as a sign of disapproval. "What did I tell you earlier? Just keep reading!" Gilbert answered angrily and turned back. Arthur sighed and continued:

"Midnight Game Preparations: to play the midnight game, you will need a large candle, a piece of paper, a pen or pencil, a box of matches or a lighter, a container of salt, a needle or pin and a house with a wooden front door. Midnight Game Instructions: step 1 - write your name on a piece of paper. It must be your full name – first name, middle name and last name. Step 2 - prick your finger and place a drop of blood on the piece of paper. Allow the blood to soak in. What?! Is that some sort of a... a paranormal game? Expecting to see ghosts, summon demons, talk to spirits - that kind of bullshit?" "Very good, Arthur," came a sarcastic nasal tone from the front, "you guessed it - we're doing something supernatural. But Artie, my dear king, you of all people should not question the existence of these... creatures and energy beings, being a Brit and all." Arthur gritted his teeth to which Kiku chuckled. "Please continue, I'm starting to get interested. Ah, reverse psychology - how marvelously it works!" he said with a smile.

"Step 3 - turn off all the lights in your house and stand at your front door. The door must be wooden. Step 4 - place the piece of paper in front of the door. Light the candle and place it on top of the piece of paper. Step 5 - 38 seconds before 00:00 start knocking on the door; 22 times to each passing second. You must finish at the stroke of midnight. Step 6 - open the front door and blow out the candle. Step 7 - close the door again and immediately relight the candle. You have just invited the Midnight Man into your home. ... Now, the midnight game begins." Arthur sighed as he had to admit to himself that he was also starting to get interested. Having come across all sorts of folklore during his childhood days, he was always skeptical, yet open-minded and lived by the word: "If I see it, it exists." And after all, he was dying for an adrenaline rush and he thought that this might be the chance to get it. They may not see the actual Midnight Man, but scaring each other in a huge abandoned building in the middle of the night would still serve its purpose. He then continued without his objections this time:

"You must walk around the house in the dark with the lit candle in hand. Your goal is to avoid the Midnight Man at all costs until exactly 3:33 AM. If your candle goes out, it means the Midnight Man is near you. You have to relight the candle within the next ten seconds or the Midnight Man will get you. The candle is your only protection. If you are able to relight the candle within this time, you can continue moving around the house, avoiding the Midnight Man. If you are not able to relight the candle fast enough, you must immediately surround yourself with a circle of salt. You must remain within the circle of salt until 3:33 AM. The salt is your last line of defense. Do not step outside the circle of salt or the Midnight Man will get you. If you make it to 3:33 AM without being trapped within the circle of salt, it means you have won the Midnight Game. Whatever happens, the Midnight Man will leave at 3:33 AM and, if you are still alive, it is safe to go to sleep. Sleep... right. If you spend the entire game staying in one spot, this will only result in the Midnight Man finding you. It is HIGHLY advised that you keep moving throughout the game." Antonio shifted in the driver's seat. "I think the first thing I'll do when we close the door behind us is surround myself with salt," he said in a slightly breaking voice. Gilbert shook his head. "I won't allow you. I'll break the circle!" he yelled with a large grin and laughed when he saw the Spaniard droop and sigh in defeat.

"Signs that the Midnight Man is nearby: 1 - your candle will blow out. 2 - you will suddenly feel extremely cold. 3 - you will hear a low whisper. 4 - you will see the shadowy figure of a man in the darkness. Rules of The Midnight Game: DO NOT turn on any lights during the Midnight Game. DO NOT use a flashlight during the Midnight Game. DO NOT fall asleep during the Midnight Game. DO NOT use another person's blood on the paper that bears your name. DO NOT try to use a lighter instead of a candle. It will not work. DO NOT attempt to provoke or anger the Midnight Man in ANY WAY. I swear to God, Gilbert, if you do, I'll kill you myself later on when we both meet in Hell... It must be exactly 12:00 AM when you finish performing the ritual, otherwise it will not work," Arthur continued and looked at Kiku, who was deep in thought. "I bet this whole thing can be explained scientifically - like the brain releases neurotoxins because of the high level of adrenaline in our body or something like that, but I have to experience it firsthand to be able to claim anything," he told Arthur at a low tone. Arthur nodded and read out the last bit of the text:

"Some final words of advice: do not play this game. There are many dangers involved. Summoning a spirit or inviting a ghost or demon into your home is incredibly dangerous. You could be abducted or become possessed. Running around with matches and candles in the dark is extremely dangerous. Do not burn yourself or set your house on fire. Pricking your finger and messing around with blood is dangerous. Do not allow yourself to come into contact with someone else's blood. You could catch a fatal disease. Yes, BAD TOUCH TRIO, stay away from the two of us - we don't want syphilis or gonorrhea or some other STD. Finally, our advice to you is: DO NOT PLAY THIS GAME." After that there was a silence when everyone thought their own thoughts. "Seems legit," Francis broke the silence and after that they all began to discuss what they may see and what might happen. "It might not work at all, I've read plenty of times how nothing happened," Francis said in line of encouragement to Antonio and it worked. The Spaniard was feeling a little more brave than he was before, but a sudden feel of eeriness came to him when they pulled up in front of the mansion, completely covered in the darkness of December's nights. Arthur could feel his heartbeat get faster - he didn't expect the place to look so cunning and horrifying. "Well, what are we waiting for?" Gilbert asked and jumped out of the car into to the cool wind of the night.

The weather was mild: it was cloudy (at least, seemed to be) and it was warm, yet cold enough for them all to wear jeans and long-sleeved shirts. They took their equipment and stepped inside the mansion. Arthur and Kiku both shuddered to how ominous the place looked. The certain feel of being watched was felt by all of them, yet still they proceeded to go to the middle of the loft, just in front of the majestic stairs. They had decided to make this their camping area and that they would return to this place after 3:33. In reality they all had the same thought - to get as far as possible from the damned mansion. They unpacked their camping gear and took a few bites to eat before starting the ritual. When it was 23:45, Gilbert stood up and took out the things they'd need. "Well, shall we get started?" he asked with a weary grin.


	17. Chapter 17

They had already written their names and dropped a few drops of blood on their respective papers and set their lit candles on said sheets outside the front door when they were waiting for the right moment to begin their summoning. Curiously enough all their watches and the huge grandfather's clock in the lobby had the exact same time, so whenever an hour would pass, the clock would ring, informing them how much time is still left. Francis thought it eerie, because even the seconds were right on time. "It's like it's destined for The Midnight Game to be played here," he said to Antonio, to which the latter let out a scared gurgle from the back of his throat. Not knowing otherwise, Gilbert thought Francis had a plan to scare their friend during the game and he approved of it, having thought the exact same thing. He was anxious, he admitted himself that much, but he wasn't as scared as Antonio was. "Then again, it could all be a magnificent ruse to set us off," the Prussian thought to himself. "As far as we know, Antonio could be bluffing. Maybe he has something up his sleeve and just acts scared to not arouse any suspicion." The more he thought about his friends, the less he seemed to understand their ulterior motives. They had all agreed to set off in different directions at first and travel together if they met up. The mansion was huge and guessing it had a lot of corridors, secret tunnels and closed rooms, they thought they wouldn't meet up that easily. "We must not shout," Kiku said and everyone nodded, "because it may provoke The Midnight Man. In any case, if we meet, we should whisper." When it was exactly 23:59:00, they gathered in front of the hard wooden door. When their clocks hit 23:59:38, they began knocking. The monotone and slow knocks were eerie and seemed to echo across the dark valley. They ended their final knock exactly at 00:00. They blew out their candles, stepped in and closed the heavy door behind them.

Inside, they immediately relit their candles. "Remember not to check your phones for the time," Arthur reminded them with a whisper. "It'll glow and show light, breaking one of the rules. Remember - no torches allowed. Just shine some candlelight on to your wristwatches." He nodded to them and was the first to set off along the left corridor. For a few moments the others watched him walk along it, until he took a sharp right and was gone, the following candlelight slowly fading. With a heavy sigh, Francis was the next to take up the courage and venture deeper into the impenetrable darkness with his small flickering light. He climbed up the stairs and took a last good look of his friends. "Don't try to act tough. Flee when you have to," his whisper was heard clearly through the stinging silence and he went further up along the the creaking stairs. For a little while they could hear the sharp steps on the old wooden floor, but soon they faded also when he must had stepped on a huge carpet. Gilbert and Kiku nodded to each other and went their separate ways: Kiku also headed upstairs, but turned right on the foot of the stairs; Gilbert went forward past the stairs and entered a small alcove in the far left corner. Antonio swallowed in fear and cursed Gilbert for pushing him into this stupid game. As reassurance, he patted the lighter in his back pocket and headed for the corridor running along the right side of the mansion.

Arthur was aimlessly wondering around the corridor. He thought it strange that he had already walked for a good five minutes and the hallway still hadn't ended. "I'm pretty sure I haven't climbed down or up a slope while walking," he muttered to himself and thought that this corridor couldn't possibly be that long so it would go around the first floor that much. He suddenly stopped and looked back and forth. "Around..." he repeated to himself and with a break in his heartbeat he darted his eyes back and forth along the hallway. It was completely straight, no turns, which meant there was no way it went around. "Am I even in the house anymore?" he breathed heavily and tried to pierce the surrounding darkness with his gaze. He checked his watch. It showed 00:23. Arthur cursed under his breath and pondered what to do next. He decided to head back - maybe he'd find the way back to the mansion, he was certain he wouldn't want to spend the rest of his miserable life walking around aimlessly in a creepy innuendo. Just as he had taken a few steps, he felt a chill run down his spine. He gasped and looked behind him. Nothing. But it was freezing. He could see his breath in the candlelight and vigorously tried to tell himself that it's just the smoke of the candle, suspiciously emitting only when he exhales. He turned around, but dropped his candle with a sudden cry. "Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, stumbling around the pitch-black hallway, looking for his fallen candle. He found it and lit it again. "Stupid piece of shit," he cursed while sucking on his finger - the hot wax had suddenly spilled onto his hand. He was wondering which way he should go when suddenly the candle went out again. "Damn," he thought to himself while taking out the lighter from his pocket again. "I must have blown it out myself." The moment the tap took flame, he managed to drop the source of light again. But this time he was in shock, starting to panic. The first thing he had seen after relighting the damn thing was a tall, slender and dark figure, a shadow, right in front of him. During that second when the light was still on, Arthur had felt that the thing had stared at him intensively, almost like from immense longing or hunger. Feeling tears forming in his eyes, he searched for the candle with shaking hands. „There's a reason why I hate this kind of stuff!" He started to panic when he heard a voice so distant, yet so close to him count with a dead and silent voice. "4... 5... 6..." Feeling the wax tube under his hand, Arthur immediately snapped his lighter and lit his candle. He looked around, gasping for air. There was no sign of the thing that had encountered Arthur. He sat along the wall, panting, and buried his face to his free hand. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and stared at his clock. It showed 00:19.

Arthur was frantically running down the hallway in the opposite direction from which he saw the Midnight Man. Not caring whether the candle would go out or not, he put his legs to full use and darted along the corridor, the candle in his left hand and the lighter in his right. Miraculously the candle didn't go off and Arthur thought it weird. "Must be a guardian angel or some shit like that," he muttered and instantly remembered how his grandmother used to kiss his forehead when putting him to bed and saying that as long as she still lives, nothing bad would ever happen to him. He smiled when thinking of his grandparents and thought that as long as he has a positive attitude, he should be fine. His claims were proven correct to himself by himself when he made a sharp turn to the left and found himself in the lobby they had met just a half an hour ago. Arthur rummaged through his bag and having finally found his water bottle, he thankfully drank the lot of it. As he sat on one of the steps, he heard creaking coming from upstairs. Since he was pretty certain the Midnight Man wouldn't give out sounds as obvious as that, he decided to check it out in hopes of meeting up with Kiku or Francis. He didn't want to wonder around with neither Antonio or Gilbert, since Antonio would probably pour a ring of salt around him the instance he sees, hears or feels something out of the ordinary and Gilbert just seemed too eager to play the game, so he wasn't sure about what he'd do when they encountered their "guest" again. Slowly but steadily he headed up the steps and prayed that he would survive the rest of the night without any more scares.


	18. Chapter 18

Francis had gotten bored with wondering around aimlessly and was now sitting on a big stringy blue armchair, his candle flickering from his steady breathing. He was far from being nervous - in fact, he was becoming sleepy. "I should have known it wouldn't work," he muttered to himself and rested his head against the chair. Decided it worth the risk, he closed his eyes and tried to relax in the embrace of darkness. He shot his eyes open and frantically looked around the old degrading living room. "Who's there?" he asked sharply and stood up.

The minute he had closed his eyes he heard shifting near the big windows. Regarding it as a draft moving the curtains, Francis chose to ignore it for the first time. But when he had heard soft footsteps along the back wall coming nearer, he thought something wasn't quite right. He scanned the room once again and gasped as he saw a dark figure standing in the far left corner. It had the shape of a slim man and was tall - in fact it stretched from the floor all the way to the high ceiling, reaching about 4 meters in height. Francis took a quiet step backwards in order to head for the door behind him. The moment he saw the figure start walking towards him, his candle blew out. Francis could only let out a small whimper before he stumbled over a pouf. Rubbing his sore back, he could hear a crackling voice whisper numbers in French. "Trois... quatre... sinq..." Having remembered what that meant, he immediately went after the lighter in his pocket. Cutting it close, he managed to relight his candle and look around. There was no sign of the shadowy figure anywhere. Francis scuffed. "That dickwad... Idiotic, simply idiotic. Was that really all? You really have to try harder if you're trying to "suck" the life out of me, haha!" He cursed Gilbert under his breath when something made him stop and face the large doorway. He couldn't see anything because of the darkness, so he had to lift up his candle to illuminate a larger area of the living room. At the doorway stood the same figure, but something was different. It seemed... agitated. Francis hated himself at the moment more than he ever had. It hadn't been Gilbert before, it had been the Midnight Man. The same Midnight Man, who was slowly stepping towards him, as if thirsting and hungering. Francis made his way quickly to the room behind him and locked the door. It was a big bathroom and his steps echoed throughout the room. He could hear his breathing become heavier and he cursed himself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh God... I just broke one of the rules." Francis clearly remembered what Arthur had said earlier. "No provoking the supernatural being," he had said waving his finger in the air as if putting off little children who wanted to cause some trouble. He sighed as he thought of Arthur. However, his train of thought was came to a halt when the temperature in the room started to descend. The more the doorknob was jiggled, the colder it became until Francis could already see his breath in the candlelight. He swallowed slowly and looked around the grand bathroom. No doors. No windows. He put down his candle on the toilet-lid and with shaky hands he dug out his salt container and opened the lid, when he stopped. The temperature had started to rise again and the jiggling had stopped. A sudden stomping against the door made him jump. "Hello?! Anyone in there?" he heard Arthur yell from the other side.

Arthur knocked again and jiggled the doorknob, when the door suddenly burst open, nearly pushing him to the ground. "Francis!" he exclaimed in awe and was happy to see he was still alive and moving. "What happened, why did the Midnight Man try to enter the room you were in? I didn't think he could open doors by himself..." Francis scratched the back of his head and said awkwardly: "I... may have provoked it..." He could see Arthur look at him, dumbfounded. "You what?" he only asked, not believing what the Frenchman had just said. Suddenly he grabbed Francis by the shirt's collar and shook him. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" he hissed through his teeth, trying to remain silent in fear the Midnight Man might still be around somewhere. Francis felt guilty for having made Arthur worry about him. After a brief explanation from his friend, Arthur was pacing around the room, his mind racing, trying to figure the best way to stay alive until 3:33. "You know he'll probably try and harass you the most now, right?" he asked as he bit his lower lip. Francis nodded and sat down with a sigh. "I also checked how much fluid I have left in my lighter. It's... not much. Definitely," he stopped as he checked his wristwatch; it showed 00:34. "Definitely not enough until the end of the game." Arthur sat down beside him. "Well, you could always pour a ring of salt around you. I'd stay here with you," he said quietly, rubbing his tired eyes. Francis smiled. "Merci, mon ami, but I cannot have you do that. Remember? You need to keep on moving and besides," he let out a small laughter, "I don't plan on losing the Midnight Game and I'm sure neither would you." Arthur nodded and smiled. After a little while of sitting in silence together he decided it would be best to keep on moving. "I just hope Gilbert will provoke him more than I did so he'd go after him," Francis scuffed as he stood up. Arthur laughed and they decided to explore the rooms surrounding the upstairs lobby. Francis hadn't been there and they wondered maybe they would see one of their friends there.

They had made their way to a big bedroom with a magnificent canopy bed surrounded by thick green curtains, or rather, they looked green. "Tempting, isn't it?" Arthur asked next to him when they were checking out the bed. Francis swallowed suddenly and could feel red forming on his cheeks. "I..." he started quietly but the Brit cut him off without noticing he had had something to say. "What I wouldn't give to go to sleep at the moment," he sighed and Francis could feel his heart-rate return to normal. "What the hell was that?" he thought to himself when he went to check out a big white vanity table in one of the corners of the room in order to get his mind off certain things. "Have I really been on the dry for so long I actually just thought about something like that?" he cursed and started to rummage through the drawers of the table. Arthur joined him and also put his candle on the table to be able to use both hands. After a minute of searching they were sure they wouldn't find anything and decided to see where the three doors in the room would lead to. Upon looking into the mirror, Arthur suddenly pushed Francis on the floor with him in order to dodge something that was thrown at them. The mirror broke and the candles fell down because of it, extinguishing the little flames. The entire room fell into darkness and Arthur frantically pulled Francis to sit into a corner with him. "What the-" Francis started when Arthur cut him off by pressing his hand against the Frenchman's mouth in order to shut him up. He crammed his other hand to his own mouth in order to keep the heavy breathing from giving away their location. Arthur knew they were practically sitting behind the vanity table and if they stayed quiet and didn't move, it would be impossible to spot them. Well, for a human at least. Francis didn't have time to remove Arthur's hand and to wonder what his friend had seen because a sudden heavy feeling of fright suddenly came over him. He could feel Arthur next to him also start to panic, so he grabbed the Brit's head and shoved it into his chest to muffle the panting and to calm him down, although whether it was to calm down Arthur or himself, he wasn't entirely sure. What would happen if the Midnight Man would come now? Francis knew finding the candles without making any noise was futile and he didn't dare to reach out for his bottle of salt he felt against his thigh. Even if he did manage to pour the ring around them, he doubted it would keep away whatever was in the same room with them. He could hear himself breathing heavily and trembling, so he hid his face into Arthur's warm body. Neither of them heard or saw anything, but they could feel the tense atmosphere, they could feel someone being in the room with them. They were sure it wasn't one of their friends nor was it the Midnight Man; something else was in the house with them.


	19. Chapter 19

Kiku had it all figured out. For 15 minutes one should move quietly along the walls and avoid doorways and windows, using only previously closed doors to move about. Then for 5 minutes one should rest, maybe sit down in a quiet corner. This plan was working for Kiku and he was quite content with himself; in fact, he was sure he would make it until 3:33 without any encounters. He wasn't pleased with one thing though - he was getting lonely and the monotone routine made him sleepy. Not to mention the fact that he had had a pretty busy and noisy day, which were two factors known to tire him. He was currently walking along a short hallway when he heard some weird noises. Curiosity beckoning him, he decided to check it out. Suddenly fully awake, Kiku could sense everything around him: his sight and hearing were exceptionally sharp at that moment, since he always got like that when he was nervous. That meant he was ready to look for the best escape route also. When he reached the door which led to the room full of strange sounds, he stopped. His palms a little sweaty, Kiku opened the door ever so slightly to peek inside. Immediately the weird sound had stopped and with a sigh, Kiku stepped in.

"Antonio, already?" Antonio nodded, his face striped from crying. "He was bawling, that's what the sound was," Kiku thought to himself and stepped towards Antonio, who was sitting on the ground and hugging his knees inside a circle of salt. "The moment I saw him," he managed to croak out, "I knew I've had enough." Kiku patted him emphatically and checked his wristwatch. 01:03. It was high time he took a little break. He pulled a padded little stool beside his friend and sat down. "So... what happened? Did your candle go out too?" he asked quietly, wanting to know more. Antonio suddenly stopped sobbing and sat up straight, slightly surprising Kiku. "It... didn't," he managed to say and suddenly got very angry. He started to curse in Spanish and punch the floor while the Japanese man nervously tried to keep him at bay. "Calm down, Antonio! It'll hear us!" "LIKE HELL IT WILL!" Antonio only screamed, a vein furiously throbbing on his forehead. "It was Gilbert! I KNOW IT!" he hissed and and started to get out of his circle when Kiku stopped him. "Don't!" he sharply said and Antonio stopped mid-step. He stood in the middle of the circle with a questioning look. Kiku sighed. "It doesn't matter whether it was Gilbert or the real thing before, but one thing is certain," he said. "You used your salt. If you leave the circle and try to return to it in case of emergency, the circle wouldn't "work" like it should anymore. And even if you collect all the salt back to its container, it wouldn't be the pure salt you had at the beginning and wouldn't work either when you pour it out once again." Antonio was devastated. He sat down again and rubbed his left temple, trying to soothe the headache he had. "So what, I have to sit here until 3:33?" he asked and looked around the small cabinet they were in. "I guess," Kiku only said and looked at his watch. "It's not like you have any other options, right?" Antonio nodded and shuddered in the slight cold. Kiku thought it would be best if he'd return to walking, so with a slightly broken heart he bid his farewells to Antonio and set off once again.

Antonio wasn't amused. "I'm probably the first one to lose the game within the five of us," he thought to himself and looked around the room. It was actually probably the best he had sat himself inside the circle, because his candle was starting to get dangerously little. They couldn't find five of the same type of candles, so one had to take a smaller one and from playing rock-paper-scissors it was sure that Antonio had to take the candles due to his losses. He checked his clock and it showed 01:16. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to rest his tired eyes, but the sound of his candle burning out with a small hiss made him open them to complete darkness. "Why does it have to be so dark here?" he thought, desperately trying to find his lighter. Having found it and lit his candle, he shrieked. The Midnight Man was hastily pacing around the line of his circle, desperately trying to find a little hole or a clean stripe in the midst of all the salt to intrude the ring. It looked as though he was constantly walking at an invisible wall. Sometimes it would take a few steps backwards and charge at the circle at full speed (which was terrifyingly fast), only to bounce back and continue to walk around the ring. Antonio whimpered and tried hard not to mind the intruder and his crackling voices when he checked the salt lines himself. Everything seemed to withhold nicely so he decided it would be best to cover his ears and close his eyes. "It'll pass, it'll pass, it'll pass..." he kept repeating to himself, trying to calm his shaking body. Even though he could see nor hear it anymore, he could still feel it running around the small circle he was sitting in. He started to cry from sheer fright - he didn't understand why, but there was something of this complete feeling of helplessness that scared him. And the darkness, the cold, and not to mention something unreal swallowing after his life. He wanted to position his hands so that they would cover his head too when he suddenly heard a clatter from somewhere beyond the door which led to the hallway. He dared look up and saw that the Midnight Man was slowly walking towards the door, swaying from left to right in an eerie manner. Antonio wiped the tears from his eyes and watched it leave the room. When it was gone, the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed. It was much warmer and the tension was also gone. Antonio sighed thankfully and tried to regain himself. He looked at his watch and rejoiced for a moment, before being heavily disturbed. It was 01:58, which meant the Midnight Man had spent over 40 minutes trying to get to him.


	20. Chapter 20

Gilbert woke up to the ringing of the majestic grandfather's clock across the huge lobby. "Damn, only two o'clock?" he thought while rubbing his eyes and turning to the other side.

The minute he had left for the "small alcove" he actually had blown out his candle and waited along the dark side of the stairs for everyone to leave. When he had been all alone, he had relit his candle and dragged some of the blankets, carpets and pillows to the same dark corner. He had poured a ring of salt big enough for him to fit to sleep in it with all his sleeping equipment. He had chosen this corner because it was out of everyone's point of view, so his friends couldn't have accused him of chickening out. "There is no way in hell I'm playing this stupid son of a bitch game," he had reassured himself before he went asleep. He had only wanted to scare his friends. Now he was awake, alive and well.

He tried to stare at the ceiling in the pitch-black room, but to no avail. Everywhere he looked he saw nothing but black darkness. He thought it weird it was so quiet. A house as big and empty as this should echo and Gilbert should at least be able to hear Antonio crying somewhere. He didn't want to admit that he was worried about his friends, so he just reassured himself that what he was feeling was a little bit of guilt and jealousy for not being able to scare them himself. "Yeah, that's what it is," he said before closing his eyes and returning to sleep once again.

At least he thought he did. He still couldn't see or hear anything. Gilbert then noticed he wasn't between the covers anymore but was standing somewhere. He searched for his cellphone in his pocket, but couldn't find it. It was already in his hand. He pressed a button to light up the screen and thus illuminating his surroundings, but to no avail: the screen did turn white but it didn't highlight anything. It was like he was in black liquid and the moment he had thought it, he felt as if drowning. Choking, he started to look around to find a way out when a pair of bloodshot eyes appeared before him. With a shriek he fell and looked at the long dark figure stepping on top of him. "Das ist bereits die zweite Regel, die Sie brach," it crackled as if through some kind of old muffled radio, its hands reaching towards Gilbert's neck. "Already the second rule... I broke?" he thought while desperately trying to tear off the ice-cold hands around his throat. He felt nausea and could feel his mind wonder off. He felt light and strength was disappearing from his hands. He could only scream inside; his body had given up, but his mind hadn't. Suddenly he felt something was shaking him furiously and he shot his eyes open.

Before him kneeling was Kiku, his candle on the ground, and a morbid look on his face. Gilbert sat up and gasped for air - he had been choking in real life too, not only his sleep. He was trembling when he wiped off the cold sweat from his forehead. He then embraced Kiku, almost knocking the Japanese to the floor. He realized he had only awoken from that "murderous" dream thanks to his friend. If he hadn't come along and heard Gilbert shifting on the floor in the dark corner... Gilbert didn't want to think about that. "What happened?!" Kiku asked after the Prussian had calmed down a bit. "Why were you trying to strangle yourself?!" Gilbert looked at him dumbfounded. "Why on Earth would I strangle myself?" he asked. "You tell me," Kiku retorted and looked at him with a concerned look. "I was coming down the stairs when I heard strange noises just beside it. I came to see what it was and I found you, your hands clasped around your neck. I tried to pull them off, but you were holding them around so hard I couldn't even get one finger off. So instead I tried to wake you up." Gilbert shuddered and looked at his wristwatch. It was 02:06. "Kiku, I think it... I think the Midnight Man punished me for breaking the rules." Kiku nodded and sighed. "You know you're not allowed to fall asleep during the game, even if you are surrounded by salt." His friend agreed. "And I... in my dream, I also used my phone. As a flashlight." Kiku picked something up from the floor. "This was glowing on the ground when I came to save you," he said and tossed something to Gilbert. It was his cellphone.

"Have you seen the others?" Gilbert asked when Kiku had poured a circle of salt next to him himself. He had decided it best to stay with Gilbert in case anything else should happen. "I saw Antonio, he was crying, surrounded by salt," he answered and poured himself some tea from the thermos. "Wow, really? Man, I wish I could've seen the look on his face when he saw the Midnight Man," Gilbert laughed and took out some crackers. Kiku stopped his cup midway to his mouth. "You mean it wasn't you?" The Prussian looked at his friend. "What? Of course not, I've been here ever since the stupid game started!" Kiku took a swig of his mildly warm tea. "But it wasn't the Midnight Man either," he answered morbidly and stared at the ceiling. Gilbert stopped munching the crackers and looked at his friend, questioning. "You see, he told me that when he saw a figure appear near the window, his candle didn't go out. But it's certain that it does go out when the Midnight Man is near. And it gets cold, but Antonio said it didn't," Kiku said quietly and looked at Gilbert, whose face was whiter than usual. "What... what the hell," he only managed to whisper and looked at the ceiling, as if trying to pierce his gaze through it or to listen to whatever was going on upstairs. "So, we know what's the status of Antonio and the both of us... But do you know anything about Arthur or Francis? I haven't seen them and I doubt they're the ones doing the scaring," Kiku asked, stretching himself. "No, they haven't passed through here either," Gilbert answered, slowly eating his animal crackers. "Well, wherever they are, I'm sure everything's alright," the Japanese only said, both of them sharply listening to the eerie sounds coming from all over the mansion.


	21. Chapter 21

Arthur's fingers were getting stiff from clinging onto Francis' shirt, but he didn't dare move them in fear of making some kind of sound. He already thought that their heartbeat and breathing could be heard a mile away, so he was surprised they hadn't been apprehended yet. He was too terrified to look up, he wasn't sure what he would see, and again he thought it might make some sort of noise. He appreciated Francis for being there for him. Feeling his arms around him, hearing his heartbeat and steady breathing and smelling his sweet scent from the shirt calmed him down. Arthur didn't stop to think how awkward it all sounded and may have looked, because at that moment Francis was keeping him from going crazy. In reality Francis thought the same way. Being able to hold on to something warm and calm eased the sense of immense fear he (and of course, Arthur too) felt. The best he thought he could do was concentrate on the breathing of his friend between his arms to keep himself sane.

Suddenly Arthur stiffened up and so did Francis. They didn't move, although the tension in their muscles and the adrenaline pumping through them reassured their bodies that they were ready to flee on spot. Something was near them. Nearer than before and they could feel it staring at them, sitting in a corner. They could hear someone sliding their fingers across the two walls at which meeting point the two friends were at. Soon the sound was directly above them and Arthur could only wonder between his thoughts of death how on Earth they were still alive. He felt Francis' arms around him tighten as the Frenchman started to panic a little again. All they could do was stay put and as silent as they could, hoping that through some miracle they wouldn't be noticed.

Suddenly it all stopped. The tension in the room was gone. The sound of sliding had also vanished. Francis didn't know why, but he was scared more than before. There was something about the eerie nothingness they could feel. He slowly and quietly lifted his head and opened his eyes. He tried to peer through the surrounding darkness but saw nothing. Feeling his friend moving, Arthur also looked up. Francis knew he tried to say something, but the words just couldn't come out. He was struggling himself to get out of trance. "Candle..." he could finally hear the Brit quietly cough out. "Candle!" he yelled and darted out of Francis' embrace towards the front of the vanity table. His hands bleeding from all the little glass shards on the floor, he desperately tried to locate their candles by patting the floor in the deep darkness. Francis also got on his knees and started to look for their lifesavers, his breath crystallizing in the cold air. His fingertips just barely touching the candles, he informed Arthur. Immediately the Brit got out his lighter and lighted the candles. Francis gave him one and they both backed up against the corner again, but the dark figure didn't stop in its tracks towards them. "They're mixed up," Arthur hissed and shoved his candle to Francis while taking the other from him. The Midnight Man stopped a few inches before them and stared at them, or rather, they thought it stared. Slowly it turned around and left the room they were in. "We're still in the game," Arthur sighed softly and hung his head on his chest, leaning against Francis. He put the candle on the floor to examine his hands. They were filled with small cuts, dark red blood oozing slowly from them. Francis stood up and went to the bed. He ripped a few long strands from the sheets and sat back beside Arthur. Gently he took his friend's hands and started to jerk out the pieces of glass stuck in them. They sat in silence, sometimes broken by Arthur's gruffs whenever there was a bigger piece lodged inside his hand. When Francis was done, he made a makeshift bandage of the cloth he had ripped. "We should go to the infirmary when we make it out of here, I couldn't get out the microscopic shards and I'm guessing you need a few stiches," he said when he had finished. Arthur thanked him and they both felt exhausted from all the emotional traumas they've been through that night. They sat in silence next to each other, half-closed eyes looking around the room they were in.

When they had entered the room, although it was dusty, it had been neat and in order, but now it was completely trashed. The furniture had been turned around and the wallpaper had been ripped from the walls, hanging off them in a melancholic manner. "Was the blood rushing and pumping throughout my body so loudly I couldn't hear the room taken down?" Francis asked more from himself than from Arthur, but the Brit answered him anyway. "I don't think so," he said and stood up, a little wobbly. He walked to the bed and looked at it good and long. "It's... dusty. The room must've been like that when we entered it." "But that's impossible," Francis exclaimed and also stood up, taking the candles along with him. He examined the vanity table they had been searching before and gasped as he saw that it was completely covered in dust. "Our handprints should be here," he whispered and jumped slightly when Arthur suddenly grabbed his shoulder. „Hey, Francis... Do you think we might have been..." He started to say but then shook his head. "What?" the Frenchman asked, staring at his fidgeting friend. Arthur sighed and looked at him, dead-serious. "Do you think we might have been caught in some kind of a time loop?" Arthur explained what had happened to him before and how the situation they were currently in was similar. "Don't you think it's weird that everything is suddenly covered with years worth of dust?" he asked Francis who was sitting on a cupboard. "Of course I do," he answered. "But how? Why?" "Like I'd know," Arthur snorted, looking at his wristwatch. He let out a laugh of relief to which Francis also checked his. "Only half an hour to go," he smiled heartily as he watched Arthur joyce around the room. "Come on, we shouldn't stay here for too long," he finally said, to which Arthur nodded. After Francis had recovered his salt container, they left the bedroom and stepped into the dark lobby, their candles only illuminating a little of their surroundings. "I hope the others aren't old as fuck or dead now," Arthur sighed, remembering what he had gone through before. Francis nodded and they set off along the eastern wall.

After about five minutes of encountering only empty rooms, they found a very content Antonio in a small room at the back of the house. They were both so happy and eased to see him live, well and young. "Hey, guys! You're still up and about, I see!" he greeted them with a grin. "Are you okay?" Francis asked, hugging the man inside a ring of salt. "Of course," the Spaniard laughed and told them all about his time in that small room. "Gilbert scared you?" Arthur asked, not being so surprised. "Yeah, that son of a bitch. But when I saw the real - Midnight Man -" he whispered, "it was so scary. But now I haven't seen it for two hours and the time is almost up as well!" Arthur and Francis felt that seeing Antonio being so happy also lifted their mood. They were positive and the Midnight Man didn't seem that scary either anymore. "But I am not surprised at all to see you two together," Antonio laughed, earning a disapproving look from Francis. "Where were you two? Snogging behind the corner all the time?" he chuckled, but stopped after he got a good kick from Arthur. "Please," he scuffed, "I'm not interested in him in that sort of way." "But he sure is." "Wow, you really are on fire tonight, aren't you, you tomato-bastard?" Francis asked with a murderous grin and tugged at Antonio's hair. They were all feeling happy until the sudden darkness swayed them off. Their candles had went out and it was getting colder by the second.

A little later Arthur and Francis were both sitting in their respective circles of salt and watched with disgust and horror how a long shadowy figure tried to penetrate the ring. When the candles had gone out, they of course had tried to relit them, but to no avail: Arthur had left his lighter in the master bedroom and Francis' was all out of fluid, Antonio's candle was out and his lighter was also missing. Just as the count had reached ten, they had finished their circles around them. Now the three of them were sitting together in a small room, waiting for the last minutes to pass. "Even if this stupid thing is out of time," Francis pointed angrily at the hungry figure roaming around the dark room, "we still have to deal with whatever was in the bedroom with us, Arthur." "I know, but luckily our movement wouldn't be limited anymore by the rules of the Midnight Game," the Brit answered and told Antonio of their creepy encounter they had had before. "Probably Gilbert," the Spaniard only retorted, covering his eyes with his hands so he wouldn't see the dark figure; it was weird how it could be seen in the middle of all the darkness. It was even weirder how Francis and Arthur had managed to pour consistent circles in the dark. "I sure hope so," the Brit answered and rested his head on his hands. He couldn't care less of the Midnight Man anymore. Sure, he was eerie and disturbing, but powerless before salt, but Arthur was also bitter from dropping out of the game before 3:33. "How do we even know when the game is over?" Francis' voice suddenly asked from somewhere in the deep darkness. Arthur symbolically turned his head to the voice and answered: "I'm not that sure. We can't see our wristwatches in the dark nor can we hear the grandfather's clock. I'm guessing we could just count to 1200 or so, since before the candles went out we still had about 15 minutes to go." Francis nodded, although he knew his friend couldn't see him. They all just started to count, trying not to be swayed off by the gackly noises the Midnight Man was making.

When they had finished, they looked up. The room was much lighter than before thanks to a ray of moonlight peeking through the heavy curtains. The Midnight Man was nowhere in sight. Arthur stood up with a sore back and hesitating, he stepped out of the circle, Antonio and Francis watching him. When he was out, he looked around and sighed in relief. He slapped himself and glanced at his wristwatch. It showed 3:46. "I could've just looked at it BEFORE I stepped out," he rolled his eyes and headed for the window. "The car is still there?" Francis asked, coming to stand beside him. "Yeah, luckily. Come on, let's head downstairs," Arthur replied and the three started to go back; cautiously, so as not to gain the attention of whatever was in the house along with them in case Gilbert hadn't been the one scaring them.

Kiku and the mischevious Prussian looked up when they heard the stairs creak, and sighed in relief when they saw their friends return. They ran to them and were greeted quite differently: Kiku was hugged or patted, when Gilbert on the other hand was punched or had his hair torn at. "I see you have a great plan," Antonio said as he looked at the almost empty lobby - the minute the clock had hit 3:33, Gilbert and Kiku began loading the car again with all their equipment. There was no way in Hell they'd stay the night there. After a few minutes they were all in the safety of their little red rental car and were on their way back to the guesthouse. Francis and Arthur told Gilbert and Kiku of the thing they had encountered beside the Midnight Man. The Prussian denied all accusations, to which the Japanese fell into a deep thought. "I think what Antonio saw the first time must have also been the same thing," he said after a while. "No, it can't be, it didn't come near me and didn't try to attack me by throwing anything at me!" Antonio said, shuddering in the passenger seat; Kiku had been chosen to be the driver since he was the only one not completely exhausted. "I think he wanted to but just... couldn't," Gilbert said. "You wear a silver cross around your neck, idiot. Silver and crosses are the best wardens against anything supernatural, dumbass." "I swear to God, if I'm cursed now," Francis only muttered and rested his head against the back of the seat. They drove back in silence which came from both horror and from being tired, and when they finally reached the guesthouse, they just dropped to their beds and fell into a thick sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

When Francis woke up, it was already past 2 PM. Dozing and stretching, he slowly sat up and looked around his room. Gilbert was still snoring in the bed on the left wall, but Antonio was missing from his bed. Even though he slept a lot and had multiple naps during the day, he was known for being an early riser. "And an early comer," Francis could already hear Gilbert's perverted comment in his head. He stood up and went for the window. December the 31st was a beautiful day and he was sure that tonight would be much different than the last one. They had all agreed not to speak of their little game to anyone, especially Alfred - knowing him, he would probably want to check it out immediately. Francis shuddered at the thought of going back to the horror mansion. He had been through many idiotic and scary situations with his friends over the past years, but this had certainly taken home the crown. Even though he hadn't thought of it at that moment, he later realized that even though he didn't like their time there, he had somehow enjoyed holding Arthur in his embrace.

"Non-non-non!" he yelled as he knocked against his forehead. There was no way he could think, or rather, feel, something like that. He of all people shouldn't be interested in Arthur in such a way. In his circle of friends he was known to be the lady charmer, the cherry popper, whatever, but nothing related to men. "It was just the situation we were in," he reassured himself. "Merde, even if it had been Gilbert I would have probably thought the same way." He was sure that that was what he really thought. Even though he enjoyed Arthur's company, they were just good friends. Nothing more. Francis smiled happily for clearing and explaining those thoughts, and he went to Gilbert's bed. He looked at the Prussian sleeping, a stupid smile on his face. Grinning victoriously, Francis slapped him across the forehead and emptied his bottle of water on him. Confused, Gilbert woke up mumbling something about "no, no, no means yes, yes, yes to me, Bock" to an empty room. Francis had already fled the scene of the crime.

When he reached downstairs, he was greeted by Kiku, who was on his way to the garden with a platter filled with bread, fruit and a cup of tea. "Good morning, Francis," he greeted him and Francis replied, smiling. He took some coffee and joined him.

They sat themselves behind a white table under a tree. "I can't believe I woke up so late," Kiku said as he cut himself small slices of bread. "Later than Arthur, that is." Francis took a sip of his coffee and asked where the Brit was. "I don't see Antonio around either," he added. Kiku continued to chop his meal into small pieces and answered: "They went to the hospital to get Arthur's hands looked at and after they would go to the airport to get Alfred." Francis nodded and sighed. He was glad Arthur's hands would be alright now, but he wasn't too happy about the Brit's cousin coming over. "One loudmouth is enough or else my head will start to hurt," he thought when he looked at Gilbert coming across the grass towards them. "Morning, bitches," he gruffed and sat down, taking a few slices of pineapple from Kiku's plate.

Arthur was impatiently pacing around the airport's arrivals section, his hands in bandages. He had only needed a few stitches for some of the larger wounds, but otherwise his hands were just cleaned and sanitized and then bandaged. Right now he was waiting for his cousin Alfred to arrive, who was already an hour late, even though the plane had already landed. Antonio was somewhere, probably at the bar, hitting on flight attendants. Arthur sat on one of the benches and let his eyes lazily glance over the waiting hall. He thought of going to see where Antonio was when he suddenly sprung up. He had noticed Alfred. Furiously he stomped his way to the small burger joint and slammed his hand on a man's shoulder. Startled, the man started to choke, and turned around on his seat to see who had surprised him. Smiling, he took a swig of coke to water down the burger and having swallowed, he opened his mouth to let out an annoying cry. "Artie!" he yelled and hugged his cousin. Arthur only patted him on his back, maybe a little too roughly, and immediately started to put him off. "How on Earth could you think of getting a burger when we are on a tight schedule?! You could have at least called and told us you were hungry or something!" he yelled, furiously shaking Alfred from his collar. Arthur was in a bad mood. His hands were hurting from the ethanol the nurses used to clean them, he hadn't had a neck of sleep that night, Alfred was giving him a headache, it was hot in the airport and he was cursing himself for what he had thought of when he was in that bedroom with Francis. He had tried to assure himself that what he had felt was a sense of comfort, a ticket away from all the horror going around them. He had a feeling what he might have thought of the Frenchman, but he quickly cast it away as the stereotypical aura the French, the natives of the nation of love, had. He also didn't want to ruin the friendship they had. Even though he had Kiku, Alfred and some others before, it was Francis who had made him truly feel not that alone. He was sure Francis would never think something like that, so he had thought it best to discard these silly thoughts he suspected himself of having.

"Okay, I'm done!" Alfred's voice suddenly woke up Arthur from his thoughts. His cousin wiped his mouth clean from the sauce and stood up, patting his stomach with a hearty smile. "That was delicious! Alright, let's go, Artie!" he yelled and stormed off, leaving Arthur to pay for his meal and run after him. Antonio had already come back and noticed Alfred running towards him. He greeted him happily and after Arthur had arrived too, they decided to visit a tourist info booth before heading back to the guesthouse. After that they were really excited about all of this while talking through their plans in the car. At midnight they would be at the Copacabana Beach, where tons of magnificent fireworks will be released into the night sky. Various festivities also took place there, so they decided this would be the perfect place to be. The three back at the guesthouse agreed with them. With spirits high, they talked about what they should do there for an hour or so, until Arthur said he still wanted to see some sights before the celebration started. Alfred quickly disregarded him; he said there was time after today too and that they should keep their money for tonight. A little hurt, Arthur decided it was for the best of the entire group not to tire themselves before the big night and went inside to get a cup of tea.


	23. Chapter 23

It was about 10 PM when the six friends started to make their way to the Copacabana Beach. After a short ride with the train, they arrived at a metro-station near it. It was heavily crowded and Francis, who had stayed to take a few pictures of the station, had to scurry back to his friends quickly in fear of losing them in this huge area. When they finally managed to reach the stairs leading back outside, they were surprised to see how many people there were everywhere. They had already gone over the fact that there are a lot, a lot of people in Rio de Janeiro and the Copacabana was one of the most popular places during New Year's Eve, but there was still two hours until midnight. They decided to divide into groups of two and check out the beach and see what cool things there were to do that night during the celebration. After about an hour of scouting, they all got back to each other at a small outside-bar located near some palm-trees at the back of the gigantic beach. It was slowly growing darker, music, happy voices and different colored lights illuminating the experience they all felt. After having ordered some drinks, they went to sit under one of the trees to discuss what to do that night.

"I think the best thing we can do is just to go with the flow," Gilbert said, tapping salt onto his tongue, taking a shot of tequila and eating a slice of lemon. Antonio rolled his eyes for the Prussian starting heavily, but agreed with the idea. "Yeah, I think that's the best. That way we'll just get thrown right into the middle of all the action. Man," he traced his eyes at a luscious carnival dancer passing by them, "I feel like dancing." Everyone else agreed besides Kiku. "You mean... we have to volunteer to everything going around here? For example... if people are doing... whatever they do, I have to take part of it?" he asked, slightly blushing. Alfred patted him on his back and cheerfully laughed. "Of course, Kiku! How else should you get a cultural experience?" he smiled. Suddenly everyone started singing and cheering, counting the seconds until midnight. They decided to join the people on the beach and after a minute thousands of multicolored fireworks shot to the sky, highlighting Rio de Janeiro's skyline and the sea. "Well, Happy New Year, eejits!" Arthur laughed and they all toasted, their glasses clanking against each other's.

The next day Arthur woke up with a heavy headache on the couch on the first floor of the guesthouse. Groaning, he got up and tripped over Francis, who was laying on the floor. With a lot of French cursing, he also sat up and blinked his eyes, blinded from the sunlight. "Arthùr?" he asked, shaking the Brit who laid on the floor, unconscious. He had hit his head against the corner of a cupboard and was now out of it. Francis cursed some more, lifted his friend back to the couch and went to the kitchen in search of some water, ice, and towels for Arthur, and some wine for himself. After five minutes of roaming around the kitchen he finally noticed Antonio curled up next to the refrigerator, sleeping like an angel. Francis mercilessly poured some cold water on him, to which the Spaniard woke up with a yip. "What gives?!" he exclaimed and stood up, a little wobbly. "Go look for the others and then come to the living room," Francis sorely answered, surprised of his rough voice. "Haha, your voice is gone just like mine," Antonio said with a shrieky voice and stormed off. With a soft feeling throughout his body circulating, he returned to Arthur with a bag of ice, a canister of water and a towel. Almost on his friend, he sat down on the couch and lovingly put the ice wrapped inside the towel to his forehead. He continued to sit there, drinking liters of water until Kiku stepped in from outside. "Ah, I see you two are finally up. Oh, I mean, you are," he said, lowering his voice, thinking Arthur was asleep. "He hit his head, he'll wake up soon," Francis answered, nonchalantly, and took his camera from Kiku. "I hope you're right… Oh, umm… The pictures there are quite... explicit," Kiku said and sat down on a chair. Francis scratched his beard and yawned. "How drunk were we last night?" he asked and sprayed some water to Arthur's face, who had started to moan. "You mean you don't remember?" Kiku asked and laughed; apparently he had been the only one easy on the booze. Slowly but surely, Arthur sat up, rubbing the bump on his forehead, flinching in pain. "Shit, what is that?" he only mumbled and went back down, resting his head on the pillow. "Here," Francis gave him the canister which Arthur thankfully accepted. A scooting noise made them turn their head to the doorway, where Antonio arrived from, dragging Gilbert behind him. "I found him in front of the garage outside. He's completely out!" the Spaniard laughed and left Gilbert on the floor when he came to sit on the floor next to Kiku. "Where's Alfred?" Arthur asked from Antonio, but his question was answered by some yelling from the top of the stairs. Alfred ran down the stairs, laughing and roaring, to which the other four except Gilbert flinched and covered their ears. "I don't remember anything! This is so cool, it's just like that movie, "Hangover"!" the American laughed and joined his friends.

Meanwhile Gilbert had also woken and they were all nervously waiting - except for Kiku, who had a smug smile on his face - for the pictures from the camera to be uploaded to Francis' laptop. They all felt like shit and couldn't remember anything. Except Kiku. And that was starting to piss Arthur off a little. "If you were the only one sensible enough," he demanded, "why didn't you try to stop us from completely trashing ourselves?" "I tried, Arthur, really," his friend answered, a little hurt. "None of you listened to me." Laughing, Gilbert emptied his bottle of beer and exclaimed in excitement when a little message jumped onto the computer's screen. "Transfer complete! Come on, guys, let's check it out!" he laughed maniacally and opened the folder with dozens of photos inside. The six friends gathered around the laptop, hearts beating fast in fear of what they might find there.

The first pictures were just normal photos of them drinking, laughing, having fun, etc. Then suddenly every picture was blurry, until about ten photos later there were pictures of different people who they've never seen before. They figured they must have spent time with them and were trying to remember any of their names, when suddenly they came across a photo which made them laugh hard. On it was a half-naked Antonio, dancing with a bunch of fiesta dancers. To it followed a series of pictures of Antonio doing different moves, all the while grinning like an idiot, almost getting crushed between the massive hips of the dancers. Even though they laughed looking at these pictures, they were terrified of what might come next. Arthur died of shame when a few picture came up where Alfred tried to put a colorful dress on him and having finally managed to do it, came a photo-session of Arthur doing different poses, some of them pretty sensual, in knee-deep water. A few blurry pictures later they saw a photo of Gilbert sleeping under a table, spooning a midget in an unknown room, completely surrounded by empty bottles of different heavy alcohols. "Aw man, I can't believe I was the first one out cold," Gilbert only grunted, not noticing the others laughing at his content face in the picture. They continued through the pictures and they noticed that sometimes they have lost clothes and gained others, switching them with different by-passers. Last night they had made their way into a small bar, where all of the pictures were about everyone else except Kiku - he was the one who shot all the photos. Francis was ashamed to see himself so drunk on every photo, but to his luck he wasn't the only one who felt like that about themselves. Dozens of different women passed by all these pictures and Antonio remarked that it seemed only logical that they must had gotten lucky. They all let out a shout of laughter and surprise, to which Arthur and Francis both died inside a little. They were looking at a photo of them kissing each other and it wasn't just a little peck on the cheek either - it was quite passionate, to be honest. "Tell me we didn't!" Francis grabbed Kiku by the shirt, morbidly thinking whether he had sex with his friend or not and shook him violently to the others' laughing. Arthur had just buried his face to his hands in shame. "Don't worry, nothing happened!" Kiku yelled, trying to free himself from the Frenchman's grip. "You were both so drunk you didn't even realize who you were kissing. Truth be told, you actually tried to kiss the woman sitting next to Arthur, but you just missed, Francis, so please! Let me go!" Francis let Kiku go and they continued to look at the photos, worried what might come next. Luckily enough there weren't many controversial photos, it seemed as though the energy seemed to had died out. There were only a few pictures of Arthur and Alfred in a bar fight left until the photos became so blurry no one could understand what was going on anymore. "Antonio took the camera from me," Kiku said apologetically and then the photos started to repeat themselves. After a few minutes of discussion everyone agreed that the pictures must be deleted, except for the first few normal ones and the one where Antonio was piss-drunk dancing with the colorful carnivalists.

Later into the day Arthur was on the grass in the garden, trying to get rid of his headache by breathing fresh air and lying down. He had had tea, taken pills, but nothing seemed to work, so there he was now. When he heard someone come and lie next to him, he opened his eyes and turned his head to see that Francis was lying next to him, looking at him with his cobalt eyes, seeming a little flushed or embarrassed. "How's the headache?" he asked to which the Brit softly shook his head. "Still hurts." Francis sighed and stared at the clouds lazily swimming by the light blue sky. "Listen... I'm sorry about last night," he said quietly after a while. Arthur grunted. "No need to be, stupid frog," he answered and furrowed his brows. "Neither of us knew what we were doing and since we don't remember it happening and the photo has been deleted... It's safe to say that there's no proof such a thing ever happened. So there's no need to worry about your reputation or dignity or whatever," he said a little hastily and stood up. "I'll go make some tea, you want some?" he asked and looked at Francis with a serious look. Francis sighed and nodded. It wasn't like how Arthur had just told. He was actually a little bitter for not remembering it. In reality Arthur felt the same way. He wished he had remembered how it had felt or that it had happened in the first place, so he could be sure of his feelings and to adjust his behavior according to them. He knew Francis would never look at him in any other positive way than just his friend and he didn't want to change that. He didn't want to lose a friend like Francis. On his way back inside the house, he decided it best just to forget any nagging „what if" and „maybe" circling around his head. Sighing heavily, the Brit put the kettle on the stove and sat behind the counter where Alfred was enjoying his fifth burger he had ordered from the McDonald's delivery service.


	24. Chapter 24

"Did you enjoy your trip?" Francis asked, smiling at Arthur who was looking out the small window after the plane had took off to get one last glimpse of Rio. Arthur nodded. "Can't wait to see the other photos as well. The ones not related to that crazy night, you know," he answered, taking out a book from his bag. "Oh come now, Arthùr, it wasn't that bad."

Once again they were the only ones of the six friends who were on the Amsterdam-London-Rio-London-Amsterdam jet. Kiku had went with Alfred to the states because of some business and Gilbert alongside with Antonio had decided to stay in Rio for a few more days to "chart the place" or rather, mess around and get some. "I don't even want to think of the weather there," Francis said and sighed as he looked at the clear blue sky and the Sun shining. "Well, better get used to the thought - we'll be there in 18 hours," Arthur replied and gave his friend a smirk.

A good ten hours into the flight Francis was the only one not sleeping. Making his way back from the lavatory he noted how every person was sleeping in the dimly lit plane and so was Arthur. He quietly sat beside him and cursed himself for his irrational fear of dying while sleeping during a flight. "I lived a good life," he told himself each time there was a little turbulence while the others were asleep. He was tired and frustrated and there was nothing he could do about it. From respect to others' and to Arthur's need for sleep he didn't want to turn on his small light on the panel above him, so there was no way he could read something. He couldn't use his laptop either due to in-flight regulations and his walkman had run out of batteries too. Neither did he know where Arthur had put his. He was thinking of making another trip around the plane and talk to some of the cute flight attendants when the Brit suddenly woke up gasping, slightly scaring Francis. Arthur looked around himself with eyes ready to pop out for a few seconds before leaning back against his seat, cold sweat covering his forehead. "Hey, you alright?" Francis asked, concerned. Arthur slowly nodded and swallowed hard. He emptied his water bottle and sighed, looking outside. "Just a bad dream," he mumbled. "What was it about?" the Frenchman asked, a little curious why his friend was fidgeting like that. Arthur hesitated before answering. Finally he turned to Francis and said, almost dramatically, since he knew his friend wouldn't like his answer: "I saw the plane we're on crash. It was in flames and all." As he suspected, Francis' face turned white as chalk. "I want to walk around," Arthur said and shimmied over Francis who couldn't move from fright. With a smug smile on his face, the Brit went on a stroll around the plane to stretch his legs.

After five minutes he returned with two bottles of juice to see Francis clinging to his seat. "Why the fuck did you have to tell me?" he hissed at Arthur when he took the bottle Arthur was giving him. "You asked," the Brit answered simply and looked Francis gulp down the entire bottle. "I knew you couldn't sleep during flights, but you're telling me you're mortified of flying?" Francis shrugged, feeling a little tired. "Only when someone tells me the plane might crash... Or when there is some turbulence... Or..." he yawned and started to doze off. A minute later he was fast asleep, leaning on Arthur. Arthur put his pillow under his friend's head and dimly turning on his light, he continued to knit a pair of gloves.

Francis woke up to Arthur shaking him. "Fasten your seat-belt, we're going to land soon," he said when his friend had come to. Francis lazily clipped it on and rubbed his eyes. "What on earth... I actually fell asleep? For how long?" he asked. "For about 8 hours," Arthur casually replied and looked out the window only to see dense clouds. "What? Ugh, how?" the Frenchman couldn't believe his ears and became a little agitated when the plane started to make different sounds as it was getting ready to land. "Well, I roofied you," his friend answered just as casually and looked at him with a grin. For a few moments Francis just stared at him, dumbfounded. "What?!" he yelled over the plane, getting some weird looks from passengers around them. Arthur laughed. "Well, not really. When I went to stretch my legs I got us some juice, remember? I asked one of the flight attendants to put some of that sleeping tincture in it, you see. I was a little worried since you've been up for such a long time anyway and the flight was going to last for 8 hours more. And well, here we are," he explained. Francis gruffly sighed, not believing his friend would do something like that. Then it hit him that Arthur had just done something he had felt was the right thing to do, considering Francis' health. "What a sweet thing to do, Angleterre," he said with a slight tone of sarcasm and softly punched him in the arm. "Oh come on, don't you get all sentimental with me now, frog," the Brit laughed and they continued to chatter about lesser things until the plane landed.

As they suspected, the weather in London was dreadful. Instead of the chilly winter they had left behind they came to drenched city, the sort of weather usually known in March, when all the snow melts away. "A lot can change in two weeks," Francis said when they were signaling for a cab. Arthur sighed, almost melancholically. "Indeed," he replied and sat on his suitcase. Francis didn't know what to make of this and just regarded it as fatigue from the long flight. After finally managing to get a taxi, they made their way through the sulky capital. Halfway through, Arthur suddenly slapped his forehead. "What is it, did you leave something behind?" Francis asked, surprised of the sudden movement. "No, I just remembered that I have to drive to Edinburgh to get Bosey," Arthur just sighed and rubbed his tired eyes.


	25. Chapter 25

"Valentine's day is coming up," Francis said one evening when he was at Arthur's, playing cards. "And?" the Brit asked, cocking an eyebrow and collecting his winnings, colorful chips, from his friend. "Ah, you know - doing something romantic with your loved one, well, I mean, you can do that every day, but to do something more special that day," the Frenchman rambled, keeping an eye on his friend. Lately he had been curious about Arthur's behavior: the man's been going out at strange times and he has seemed somewhat absentminded. Well, that's what it seemed to Francis, at least. Thinking his friend was in love with someone, being his nosy self in romance, he wanted to know who his lover was. Arthur had put his cards down and was looking at Francis, dead-serious. "And your point is?" he only asked and continued to stare at him. Francis was struck back from his friend's evasive actions. "N-nothing, I was just wondering if-" "If I have a girlfriend? Or rather, a boyfriend, as Antonio and Gilbert like to tease?" Arthur interrupted and smirked sourly. "No, no I don't have one of those. It has been years since I've dated someone and my bed doesn't see so many visitors as yours probably does. Boy, am I thankful that during the renovation they thickened the walls too," he added laughingly when he went for the fridge to get them another beer. "Ahh, Arthùr, you know that if you wish to hook up with someone all you have to do is ask! I'm sure I could find you a fine-looking woman," Francis said with a grin, taking the bottle Arthur was offering. The Brit shook his head. "No thanks," he said, "I don't think I want to at the moment." He decked the cards and they began to play blackjack again. "So what do you do on Valentine's?" Francis asked after a while, still not satisfied. Arthur sighed and answered. "Well, usually I call my mum to talk to her and tell her I love her... And I usually spend the night at the bar, ridding people of their money," he took more coins from Francis, "and drinking the night away." Francis smiled to his friend. He thought the plan was simple and may seem lonely to others, but he thought it was exactly like Arthur to do so. He liked hearing his friend say he talked to his mother; it meant everything was continuing to be alright. "And let me guess... You're going to pick up a girl or three and give them the day and/or night of their lives. Am I right?" Arthur interrupted his train of thought. "Oh, Arthùr, you can read me like an open book," Francis answered, smiling. "I wish," his friend gruffed and ended the game, because Bosey wanted to go out. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said before putting on his coat and leaving the flat.

Absentmindedly, Francis wondered around Arthur's apartment. He liked all the little things about it, everything just seemed to tell him how good of a friend he was to him. He went to the Brit's office to see whether new photos had been added to the wall he remembered well. He was glad to see photos of them both and their friends in Rio hang proudly on the wall. Francis smiled when he found the picture he had been hoping to see there. It was a photo of him and Arthur on top of the Sugar Loaf mountain in Rio de Janeiro, shoulder to shoulder, smiling widely in front of the beautiful scenery. Lately something had been pulling him more and more towards Arthur. Through spending a lot of time together with him he had learned to know all the little things about the Brit which made him the man he was. Francis thought he had a good grasp on Arthur, but he still wasn't quite sure what he really thought about him. Neither was he sure about his feelings towards the Brit. "We're good friends, that's for sure," he thought when he was looking at different photos of Arthur. "But there's this... interrupting factor, that something isn't quite right." He just couldn't put his finger on whatever was bothering his friend. He knew him too well to tell that everything was alright. Hoping it was nothing serious, he left the office, closing the door behind him. A few minutes later Arthur returned with Bosey, both completely soaked. "It started to rain, stupid weather indeed," he said when grabbing a towel to dry his hair. "Ready to continue?" Francis nodded and they both sat behind the table again. "Everything's alright, mon petit lapin?" he asked after a few playthroughs. Arthur snorted a laugh. "Of course, why would you-" he said, but his answer was interrupted by a loud sneeze. "Bless you," Francis said, laughing.


	26. Chapter 26

Arthur groaned when he heard his phone buzz somewhere on the ground for the seventh time in the last half hour. It was about 7 PM and he hadn't gotten out of bed since morning. Bosey couldn't care less about his master's medical condition - it was warm, its food- and waterbowls were full and it didn't have the need to go out. It was lazily napping alongside Arthur's body, warming him.

The Brit heard his cellphone buzz again. "It must be Francis or mum," he thought when he continued to lay in his warm bed. He was supposed to go to Francis' place about an hour ago to take something his friend wanted to give him. Arthur was also supposed to call his mother by now, so there was a big chance she called him herself, thinking something's wrong. "I hope neither of them thinks I abandoned them," he sighed and closed his eyes, feeling dizzy. Arthur was down with a heavy flu, he couldn't breathe well, he was constantly shivering and his head hurted like hell. After a while the buzzing stopped. "He must have given up. Oh, he's so offended now probably," the Brit thought sadly, assuming it had been Francis calling him until he heard someone knock on his door. Arthur cursed himself. He had no strength to go to the door nor did he have the voice to yell that the door was open. Being a little off-minded, with a crackling voice he told Bosey to go open the door. He fell into a short restless sleep until he was woken up by Francis.

"Hey, Arthùr, you okay?" he asked, looking mortified. Arthur opened his eyes only to wheeze and pull a blanket over his head - Francis had turned on the lights. "You don't look good, what's wrong?" the Frenchman said and pulled the blanket off his friend's head. Arthur felt so horrible, so he had no idea what was going on anymore. All he could see was dim light from his half-closed eyes, hear his friend's voice and numbly sense things going around him. Francis put his palm over Arthur's forehead, but shook his head. "It won't do, my hands are too cold," he sighed and apologized to his friend for his further actions. He gently pressed his lips against Arthur's forehead to check his temperature. He sat back up and shook his head again. "You have a high fever, mon ami, tonight we're not going anywhere." Arthur groaned and whispered with his broken voice: "I'll be fine, you go, I just need sleep." "Be reasonable, I can't leave you dying here," Francis chuckled and looked around the open bedroom. It was clear his friend hadn't left the bed since last night. He noticed Arthur was furiously shivering. "Hold on, you're going to feel better soon," he quietly said, worried of his friend. He quickly went to the bathroom to get the water running. The first thing Arthur needed was a hot bath to make him feel warmer. It would make his body temperature rise up, but to prevent his fever from getting bigger he needed to take some medicine and hold a bag full of ice on his forehead. After a few minutes the bath was steaming, full of hot water. Francis quickly called the dates he was supposed to meet tonight that he couldn't make it and scurried back to his friend. "Come on, Arthùr, you need to get warmer," he said after pulling the blanket off his shivering friend. Arthur was too weak though - he couldn't get his legs under him. With a sigh, Francis picked up Arthur and carried him to the bathroom, the Brit dozing off all the while. "Jeez, how did you get that ill?" he asked when they arrived next to the bath. "What are you doing, you fag?" Arthur dizzily asked when Francis took off his friend's clothes. Francis laughed. "You don't take a bath wearing clothes, dumbass," he said when he picked him up again and gently lowered him to the water. Arthur shuddered at the heat and shot his eyes open, panting. "What did you do, boil the water?" he asked with a little more life in him. Francis only told him he was going to change the sheets in the bed and left.

After 15 minutes Francis arrived with some of Arthur's warmer clothes and helped him out of the tub. He also helped him dry and dress himself, but Arthur was content he was now able to move on his own. A little wobbly and wearing a warm sweater, a pair of sweatpants and warm socks he made his way back to his fully made bed with extra blankets. He laid down on the fresh bed and had to admit that he felt a little bit better. Francis joined him with a big cup of warm milk with honey and a bag of ice. "Here," he said when he gave him the drink. Arthur sat up, leaning against the pillows at the head of the bed and started to drink the milk. It was horridly sweet, but he didn't mind. "I'm going to the apothecary to get you some medicine and I'll take Bosey too since he needs to go out," Francis said. "After you've finished your drink, put that icebag on your forehead," he added and set off. After finishing his drink, he crawled out of bed and got to his knees on the floor. As he suspected, his phone had been under his bed. Back between the covers, he dialed his mother's number. "There you are!" a woman's voice came from the other side of the line. "Sorry, mum, I couldn't get to you sooner," Arthur said, trying his best to sound normal, but he should had known it wouldn't work with his mother. "Darling, what's wrong? You sound awful," his mother asked, concerned. "It's nothing, mum, really." "Well, I hope you're taking care of yourself." Arthur hesitated before answering. It just occurred to him how much Francis was doing for him. He had been really worried about Arthur and the fact how much he looked after him made the Brit feel a little uneasy. "Y-yeah, don't worry. Everything'll be alright," he finally answered and they continued to chat about lesser things until he heard Francis come back. "Alright, mum, got to go. I'll see you soon, okay? Love you," he said and after having heard his mother tell him goodbye, he turned off his phone. Francis came back, his cheeks red from the cold outside, holding a small plastic bag. He tossed a bottle of orange juice to Arthur and sat down on the bed beside him. "Here," he said when giving him different medicines he had bought for every possible symptom there could be - medicine for a runny nose and a sore throat, painkillers, sleeping pills, vitamins and some capsules against fever. "I'll pay you back soon," Arthur said after having taken a pill from all of those. "No need," Francis said, looking at Arthur. "Are you hungry?" Arthur shook his head. "No," he answered, "just a bit tired." The Frenchman smiled at him. "Well, you better get some rest then," he said, standing up to go and cook something nonetheless. Arthur stopped him by grabbing his sleeve. "L-listen, Francis, I..." he stuttered a little, feeling his cheeks form red. He let go of his friend's sleeve and continued: "I must be getting another fever... Anyway, I just wanted to say... thank you. For looking after me. And that I'm sorry for ruining your Valentine's Day." Francis smiled and shook his head. "Don't be sorry, Angleterre," he only said and went to the kitchen, leaving Arthur to fall asleep. A little later he came back to check on his sleeping friend and was content to see he was looking slightly healthier than before. He thought it weird how happy he felt for being able to be there for Arthur. Gently he palmed the Brit's cheek and put his lips against his forehead again, but to check the temperature or just because he wanted to, he wasn't sure.


	27. Chapter 27

For the first time in many months Francis was just sitting in his apartment with nothing to do. Usually he'd spend most of his free time with Arthur, but since he was out of town because of some work, that was out of the question. He looked at Bosey laze in the middle of the open flat; the Brit had asked him to look after it until he got back. "Bosey?" he cautiously asked because it had been lying still for a good few hours now. The bulldog grunted and tossed itself to its other side. "I should have known by now," Francis sighed and leaned his head back against the big armchair. He wasn't in the mood to do anything. In fact, he was very bored. All he could think of was what he'd usually do at that time of day: he would be sitting at a diner with Arthur, having lunch during his friend's break and chatting of meaningless things. Francis liked that sort of thing - just simply being with someone who you didn't have to swoop off their legs. The more he sat there the more he thought of his friend and what they did together, until with an annoyed sigh he stood up and went for the kitchen. Grabbing the apron from a hook, he tied it around him and checked the pantry. Whenever Francis was moody - irritated, angry, sad or lonely - he would bake soufflés. Soufflés took calm nerve and a lot of patience to make, so he thought baking them was the best way to take his mind off troubling things. He wasn't too sure about what was the exact reason, though. "Maybe I'm just bored," he thought while rubbing his forehead after having got everything he needed.

It wasn't until the doorbell suddenly rang when Francis stopped baking and looked at his work. "Seven?" he said curiously when he counted the soufflés. Usually it would help when he baked one or two, but even now he still wasn't satisfied. Still a little irritated, he went to open the door. "Hola, Francis!" It was Antonio who had come to visit him. Francis invited the Spaniard in and after he had rid himself of his coat and boots, he lazily sat on the couch, stretching himself. "What are you doing in London, mon ami? Where's Gilbert?" the Frenchman curiously asked when he had made some coffee. "Gilbert's visiting his brother and I'm here on business," Antonio answered after taking a sip from the steaming cup. He spotted Francis still wearing an apron. "Baking soufflés?" His friend nodded. "How many?" he asked, kicking back on the sofa. "Seven," Francis answered and sighed. Surprised, Antonio sat back up again. "Seven?" he repeated and looked at his friend, a little worried. "What's bugging you, Francis?" The man in question shook his head. "I don't know." His friend traced what Francis was looking at - Bosey was sleeping in front of the door and after a moment of thought, Antonio's face spread into a wide grin. "Is it king Artie?" he asked, suggestively. Francis only furrowed his brow and hesitated before answering. "I..." he began, but shook his head as if in doubt of his own words. "I don't know," he finally answered and went back to the kitchen. Antonio followed, grinning.

"Are you sure?" he drawled, knowingly. He wouldn't mind if Francis had some sort of romantic feelings towards Arthur. Although the Frenchman was a known heartbreaker, he had never been in love with anyone. Sure, there have been the occasional falling in love with someone beautiful, but the first impression has always been deleted for him after having gotten to bed with the girl. Even though the trio might not seem like it, they really cared about each other's well-being. Antonio wished Francis to be as happy and carefree as he was before, but if he truly had some hidden feelings towards their new friend, the Brit, he would like Francis to be clear about his feelings. ... That and if it all were to be true, he would win a hefty bet he had made with Gilbert.

Francis gave him a questioning glare. "Why do you ask me all of these things?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Have you two said something to him again?" he demanded, taking a threatening step forward, but Antonio wasn't swayed by that. "Please, Francis, be reasonable. You know I would never get between you and your love life. Sex life maybe, but love? That's on a whole new level," Antonio answered laughingly, still wearing that irritatingly smug grin. Francis was taken aback from this sudden answer. "Love?" he asked, almost as if throwing the word over and over in his mind. He gave his friend a serious look and asked, hesitatingly: "You mean... me? Love Arthùr? Or he..." He trailed off and turned his back to his friend. Inside he was torn apart. He had never really doubted his unromantic feelings towards the Brit, even though there has been a weird factor swaying over his mind when thinking of him lately. Could it really be something like that?

"Non." "No? What do you-" Antonio's question was interrupted by a punch thrown right into his face by Francis. "It isn't like that! It can't be! Stop saying such stupid things!" the Frenchman yelled, frustrated. Antonio held his nose and squealed: "I think you broke something, you fucking idiot!" He was losing his patience with his friend. "You can be so dense!" he screamed back at him, blood dripping from his nostrils. "What?!" Francis hissed, a murderous look playing in his eyes. "Yes, dense, you moron! If only you could see as I do how happy you are when he spends time with us! Oh, and not to mention the lusty looks you subconsciously give him!" Antonio yelled. "What are you saying, I do not-" "Oh yes, yes you do! Subconsciously! You yourself, your mind doesn't- you don't even know you're doing it, but your heart does! I have no idea how Arthur sees you since I can never understand what the guy thinks or feels, but it is clear as day to me that you have a thing for him!" Francis looked at him, gloomily. "I am not attracted towards men, you know that," he said, his voice quieter than before, but still pretty loud. "But you have to admit there is something more than just friendship you feel against him! Bromance or whatever, but it's there! Something is there, deep inside of you, and if you only wasn't that ignorant, maybe you'd know what it was! Alright, maybe it's not quite love, maybe you're just interested in him more than you usually are of people, but still!" the Spaniard wouldn't quit. Francis smiled victoriously. "Exactly," he said, now perfectly calm. "I'm just interested in him and because he's the only normal and interesting person I know in London, I spend a lot of time with him! Nothing else," he added, as if reassurance to himself. Antonio threw his hands into the air in defeat, because he had had enough of arguing with his friend. "Whatever, just... Just drive me to the hospital, god damn it, you broke my nose," he grunted.

A few days later Arthur finally got back and stopped by Francis' flat to get Bosey back. Before going back to his apartment, he turned to his friend. "Hey, Francis, it's been a while, want to hit the pub tonight?" Francis hesitated before answering. Sighing, he finally said: "Pardon, Arthùr, I can't come over in a while now. I... I have a lot of work to do. I'm sorry." "O-oh, no, it's okay, you don't have to apologize," the Brit said, wished him a good night and left with his dog. Francis cursed himself after having locked the door. "He probably had waited all this time for us to go somewhere again," he thought to himself. It pained him how hurt his friend had looked, even though he had tried to hide it. Sad, he went to the kitchen and grabbed his apron from the hook.


	28. Chapter 28

"There you are!" Arthur let out a disgusted sigh as he watched a man advance towards him once again in the store. The man in question was probably in his thirties, tanned and with black hair slicked back with too much hair gel. He was one of the food store's clerks and had recently started to hit on Arthur. "Listen, pal, I'm just trying to buy some groceries," Arthur snapped, grabbed some tea from the shelf, and tossed it to his shopping basket. "You know I'll stop seeing you here if you'd come to my place, cutie," the man said with a smooth voice. "Don't you feel the same way?" He was standing so close the Brit could almost taste the oily jasmine perfume the guy was wearing. "I feel many things when I see you, nausea above all. Don't you have to clean up aisle 12 or something?" Arthur said sharply and turned to go, but the clerk grabbed his shoulder. The Brit turned around and flipped his hand to get free. "I swear, I will punch you, you Italian wannabe," he said. "I'm not interested." Still that idiotically smug smile on his face, the man started to say something but hung himself off. Arthur thought it weird and was going to ask what had suddenly shut the usual chatterbox up when he felt a hand snake around his waist. Startled, he quickly turned his head to see Francis holding him. "Is this man bothering you, cher?" he asked with a small smile all the while looking at the tanned store clerk who was getting slightly more irritated, until he just turned around and left. They watched him get out of sight before Arthur freed himself from Francis' grip. "You know you could have easily taken him on," his friend said to him happily. "Yeah, but I still want to shop here in the future," Arthur answered and looked at Francis. "I haven't seen you in 4 days." Francis sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, Arthùr, I had to... deal with some things," he said quietly. In reality Arthur didn't care now that he hadn't seen him for days. Sure, it was bothering him during their time off, but now, when he saw him happy and well, it cheered him up too. He found himself absentmindedly looking and smiling at his friend. Quickly he shook his head and went for another aisle, Francis closely following. "What do you say about coming over to my place for dinner?" Francis asked, grabbing around his friend's shoulders. "Sure," Arthur replied happily and they finished their shopping.

Once outside they started to make their way back home, chatting of lesser things. "You often get hit on by extremely tacky gays?" Francis jokingly asked, lighting his cigarette. "Yeah, tell me about it, a certain Frenchman can't even keep his hands off me in the store," Arthur retorted to which his friend chuckled. "Better watch out, who knows what that dashing French fellow might try next." The Brit smiled. "I guess I'll just have to wait and see. ... What?" he asked curiously from Francis who had stopped walking and was looking at him. His friend shook his head. "Nothing," he answered with a smile and hurried back to Arthur's side.


	29. Chapter 29

About two hours later they were sitting behind the small rounded table in Francis' flat, knees touching and forks and knives clanking on the plates, enjoying themselves in complete silence. Arthur broke it when he had took a sip of water from his glass. "God, Francis, how I've missed your cooking, the meat just melts in my mouth. It's so delicious I think I might cry. I've done nothing but starved these past days," he said and continued to eat hastily. Francis chuckled and watched his friend, feeling happy and proud. "Oh, what would you do without me?" he jokingly asked and went to the oven to take out the pie. "Die, probably," the Brit said and wiped his mouth after finishing his veal. He took their empty plates and put them in the dishwasher. "You don't have to, mon ami," said Francis who was coating the pie in chocolate glaze with ease. "Francis, it's just the dishwasher," Arthur said and continued to take the dirty dishes which his friend had used to cook them dinner out of the sink and put them into the washer. After finishing, he pushed a button to start it up and turned to Francis. "All done," he cheerfully said and smiled at his friend.

A little later they were once again sitting behind the small rounded table in Francis' flat, knees touching and dessert-forks clanking on the small plates, enjoying themselves in complete silence. Arthur broke it when he had took a sip of wine from his glass. "This is so delicious, you just have to make it every time I have dinner at your place... Well, maybe not every time, I'd probably gain a lot of weight when I eat it every day. No one makes cakes as good as you do," he said and sighed with pleasure when he was munching on a forkful. Francis chuckled and looked at his friend, feeling happy and proud. "I presume that instead of a sweet-tooth you have sweet-teeth?" he jokingly asked and went to the cupboard to get another bottle of wine. "Oh, yes," the Brit said and wiped his mouth after finishing his third slice. He took their empty plates and put them in the sink. "You know you don't have to, mon ami," said Francis who was looking for something to gank out the cork. "Francis, it's just the sink," Arthur said and continued to put the dirty dishes into it. After finishing, he turned to Francis. "All done," he cheerfully said and smiled at his friend. Francis handed him his glass and leaned against the counter. "I'm glad we had dinner together again after a while," he said and clanked his glass against Arthur's. "Me too, but I feel like a douche about it," he said after taking a few sips. "What are you talking about? I have breakfast at your place every morning, I'd say we're even," the Frenchman smiled. Arthur looked as if he wanted to say something more, but hesitated and decided it best not to say. Yet, at least. Francis gave him a curious look but decided not to bother his friend with embarrassing questions.

Arthur was about to leave when he suddenly turned around, almost knocking over Francis, who was walking behind him. "Hey, mind if I ask you a favor?" he asked, a little uncomfortable. "Sure, everything for you, mon petit lapin," his friend said and smiled as encouragement. Arthur smiled back. "Well, since it's the end of April already, I usually go to my parents' place to help with the farm work. All of my brothers come as well, except Robert, my older brother - he's on his honeymoon at the moment, so we're sort of short on hands. And well... I was wondering if you could help us out, you know. I don't invite friends or other people there, only family, but you... you're..." Francis noticed his friend was getting a little embarrassed, but didn't try to say nothing to help him: he thought he looked cute when blushing. Francis shot his eyes open in sudden realization what he had just thought and slapped his forehead. He had tried so hard to keep his mind off things like that. "Oh, no, it's okay, if it's too much of a bother to you, you don't have to come," Arthur shyly said, thinking he had bothered his friend too much. Noticing his mistake, Francis quickly put his hand on Arthur's shoulder and stuttered, apologizing. "No, I just remembered I had... forgotten to pick up my dry-cleaning. I'd love to come and see that place of yours, Arthùr, I'd be honored." The Brit let out a wry smile and wished him a good night. Francis wished him the same and went to bed again with a happy mood in over a while now.


	30. Chapter 30

Francis sat on the sofa, his eyes following Arthur spurt around the flat. He had already packed his stuff and had decided to come see how the Brit was doing, in case he needed some help with anything. He was very excited about their little trip, but did a marvelous job hiding it. "What are you looking for?" he asked after Arthur had checked under his bed for the 19th time. "Nothing in particular, just a... never mind," Arthur vaguely answered to Francis' disappointment and went to rummage around the shelves again. A few minutes later a victorious "Aha!" yelled across the apartment signaling of Arthur's success locating the lost item. Cheerfully he came to the couch Francis was sitting on to put away a strangely shaped object wrapped in some old newspapers to his small traveling bag. "My father's birthday was last week and I got him a new walking cane. Hmm, let's see… Clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, charger for the phone… Did you pack clothes you have no objection against getting dirty?" the Brit asked his friend, zipping up the bag. Francis nodded. "I haven't been to a farm in ages, to tell the truth. Last time I think was when I was 13 and it was at Gilbert's place," he reminiscensed. "Alright. But worry not, you'll be teaming up with me, since I know the place and the jobs needed to be done there." Arthur smiled. "What is it?" Francis asked with a small laugh, amused by his friend's smirk. "I think my mum is going to like you a lot," he said, again having a wry smile on his face. "How come?" "Well, you're a man who can COOK superbly, that's something novel to her. Alright, well, let's go," Arthur said, grabbed his bag and took hold of Bosey with a leash. Francis tossed his own bag over his shoulder and having locked the door behind him, he returned the key and moments later they were on their way down with the elevator, since Bosey wasn't too keen on stairs.

"Here, hold him for a moment," Arthur said and handed Francis the leash with the mutt. "I'll go get the car." He ran off to the parking lot behind the house, leaving his friend to stand on the pavement. It was a beautiful evening. The afternoon Sun was shining golden through the branches of budded trees, the sky was clear and a fresh wind was blowing away what was left of the winter blues. There hadn't been snow for two months now and the beginning of April was a befitting spring to Francis' mood lately. Currently, though, he was interested in seeing the type of car Arthur drove. At first he thought he didn't own one since during all the time they've known each other the Brit had never even mentioned using his car, not to mention the fact Francis had never seen it (since he hasn't gotten one himself, he finds no point in going to the parking lot behind the house). Having heard the rumble of an old, yet powerful engine, he turned himself to the road leading to the back of the house.

From there rolled a sky blue vintage car, a majestic piece of machinery by shape and power. With the creaking of the front door, Arthur stepped out of the car, feeling overly happy from hearing a whistle of amusement escaping his friend's lips. "Saying it's a nice car is an understatement," Francis said and looked at it in amazement, for he had always liked vintage cars, saying they were classy. "I'm glad you like it," Arthur smiled and took Bosey from him. "I inherited it from my grandfather after his passing since I had so many fond memories of it from my childhood. I decided to renovate it and make it fitting and efficient to drive around today, which means I had to exchange the engine to a more powerful and environment-friendly. It was costly, but so very worth it," he explained and patted the hood of the car lovingly. "Aston Martin DB4," Francis read from a tiny metal plate at the side of the ride. "Well, we should better get moving or we won't make it there by nightfall," Arthur said and opened the back door to let Bosey hop on the bench, covered with a blanket to keep his claws from harming the creamy leather. Francis threw his bag to the small trunk and joined Arthur, sitting on the passenger's seat. The seats were comfy and the inside was nice and clean, although the ceiling was a little low, but luckily not low enough to make Francis feel uncomfortable. "The doors creak and the engine is a little too loud, but overall it should be a pleasant ride, since I had the suspensioon changed to make the driving smoother," Arthur said and put on his seat-belt, to which the Frenchman did the same. The engine let out a soft, yet loud purr when the Brit turned the key and they drove off the boulevard, Bosey sleeping calmly behind them.

About three hours later after changing interstates they decided to make a stop and stretch legs. Arthur went to a diner to get them something to eat and Francis decided it a good time for a little smoke, when he heard his friend's cellphone ring from the open window of the Martin; he had left it on his seat. The Frenchman checked to see who was calling him and was a little surprised to see Arthur's mother calling. Not feeling like running over the road to his friend, he decided to answer the ringing in case the woman wanted something important. "Hello?" he asked, trying not to sound too French for some reason unbeknownst to him. "Who is this?" came a drawled question from the other side of the line. "Oh, I'm sorry. I am Francis, Arthur's friend. He is away at the moment." "Oh, you're Francis! You're all dear Bosey talks about lately!" came a happy laugh of recognition. Francis' heart skipped a beat. "I was just calling to ask how far are you?" the woman asked. Francis looked around him to see any signs and after having found a blue one, he replied: "It's about two hundred miles until Scotland." All he knew was that the cottage was somewhere near the border of Scotland and that it was 350 miles from London to there. "Oh, that's good. In that case you should arrive in three or four hours, assuming you do stops on the way," Arthur's mother said and continued to tell Francis a little bit more about the way there. After a few minutes they said goodbyes and Francis tossed the phone back on the seat. It was true, they had been making quite a few stops because it was his first time of seeing the great countryside and the lovely and enchanting small towns of Britain. He wished that some day he could take Arthur to see the glory of France with him. He finished his smoke just in time when the Brit came back with a small plastic bag and two steaming cups. "Here, coffee with cream and two teaspoons of sugar. The way you like it, right?" he asked when handing over a cup. Francis nodded with a smile and took a sip from the mug, immediately frowning. "What's wrong?" Arthur asked, rummaging around the bag. "The coffee's awful," Francis answered and tossed it to the bin on the side of the road. "I'll share my tea with you, it's quite alright. I guess us Brits just can't brew coffee the French would tolerate," Arthur smiled, and handed him his cup. Reluctantly Francis accepted it and tried to drink as little as possible to leave most of it to his friend. After having eaten the sandwiches Arthur had bought and drank the tea, they got back inside the car and drove off, making stops every now and then for Arthur to talk about a site and for Francis to take photos of it.


	31. Chapter 31

It was a little past midnight when they pulled in to a dark garden. Francis was a little disappointed - being in the country at night was so dark you couldn't see a few steps in front, not to mention anything about getting a good look of the house. All he could see was the withered wooden front door, light from a lantern hanging next beside shining on it. The windows stood tinted black, except for a few on the first floor. They stepped out of the car and while Francis took the bags from the trunk, Arthur let Bosey out. To the creaking and banging of the car's doors a few shepherd dogs ran out from a barn behind the house, wagging their tails that a person they knew had returned. They couldn't care less about Bosey and the feeling was mutual; on the other hand, Arthur and especially Francis were very interesting. While they were petting the dogs, a short red-haired old woman reminding Francis of Molly Weasley from the Potter series came to the door. With a stern voice she commanded the dogs to go back where they came from and went back inside, waving her hand and signaling the two men to step inside.

Once inside, the first thought that came across Francis' mind was the Bag-End, Bilbo and Frodo Baggins' home. The house was quite similar to it and the Frenchman thought that maybe it's just how British cottages and country-houses were. The open rooms were dimly lit, and the fireplace cast golden and orange shadows on the earthly-colored interior. Handmade carpets covered the stone floors, scraped wooden furniture looking ancient, yet neat with all different books and trinkets covering them and the shelves. Pictures, paintings and photographs hanging from the walls where heavy windows weren't covering them. Armchairs didn't belong to any set and the small rounded tables near them bore signs from many years of usage. Everything felt homely and warm, a smell of freshly baked pumpkin pie mixed with homemade tobacco hanging through the air.

"It might not be much or fancy, but it's home," Arthur sighed happily, looking at Francis awe at the house. "It's really nice," he answered and noticed the Brit smile in content, which made him happy in turn. He laughed quietly when he saw Bosey strut to the fireplace and lay down on the carpet in front of it. "He clearly knows where the best spots are," he wanted to say but was cut off by the same red-haired who came from a doorway on the left. "Oh, Artie!" she sighed and fondly took hold of her son. "Hello, mum," Arthur answered and closed his eyes in the warmth of her mother. Francis couldn't help but to smile at the loving sight. A few moments later the woman let go of Arthur and turned to the Frenchman. "And you must be Francis!" she said quirkily, her voice was strict and rigid, yet gentle. "Yes, that I am. Francis Bonnefoy; it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said, giving her his hand. "My name is Margaret Kirkland." The woman took it, but instead of shaking it she pulled Francis to her embrace, hugging him so hard he thought his bones were about to break. Arthur laughed in amusement - he was as surprised over his mother's behavior as Francis was. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you so much, Francis!" she whispered while swinging back and forth, still having a firm grip around the man. "For what?" he was confused when she had finally let go. Margaret just winked at him and went away, leaving the two look at each ohter, puzzled. "Well, are you two coming or not?" came a commanding voice from the other room and hurriedly the two friends followed it.

They arrived in the kitchen where Margaret told them to sit behind the table. "You boys must be hungry from that long ride. And tired too. I warmed some soup for you and while you eat, I'll go make the beds," she said, tussling around the big kitchen. The table they sat at was a heavy and huge piece of oaken woodwork, scrapes and scratches covering it, for many meals and works had been done sitting by it. In the middle of the table lay a crocheted veil and on it a royal blue vase, in it many different forest flowers, smelling pleasant and calming. The kitchen itself was orange and dim from the few lights in the room, but when morning came and daylight shone, the big glazed windows in the corner would light up the whole room during the time the Sun made its way from east to west until sundown, when it went behind the other corner of the house. A big black iron stove covered almost half of one of the walls, numerous teapots, pans and pots hanging above it. Shelves filled with ceramic plates, mugs, jugs, bowls and other tableware hung across the wall where the door leading to a big pantry was. Warm and lowly built, the room was sure to be a sauna when preparing a bigger feast than usual. Francis stared in awe at the old-fashioned brown kitchen; the herbs growing in wooden boxes by the window, the barrels in the corners of the room filled with all sorts of farm products and ale, a massive fridge, dirtied from the coal coming from the fireplace across the room - everything seemed so homely and lovely. He could only guess what was behind the doors of the cupboards and where every single different chair by the table had come from.

All this time Arthur had been quietly looking at Francis study the room, feeling happy that his friend was impressed by his childhood home. He was currently thinking what would be the first thing he should see in daylight when his mother gently put two bowls of steaming and aromatic onion soup in front of them. She also had made some ham sandwiches with homemade bread and put them on a plate next to the bowls. "Now you enjoy your supper while I go see which rooms are all set to put ready. I'm thinking Francis can sleep in Robert's room, since he isn't coming," Margaret said, wished them a great meal and went upstairs, the wooden stairs creaking under her marching heavy steps. "This is all too nice," Francis said after having finished what he thought to be the most delicious onion soup in the world. "How come?" Arthur asked, a wry smile on his face, cheeks tinted pink from the sudden outburst by his friend. "It just is. Good food, nice people, great house - seems like I've walked into a dream of some sort. It's all so different, in a good way of course," the Frenchman explained while they were washing their bowls. The first rule in the house of Kirklands was to always clean up after oneself, but this rule was usually ignored by the sons of Margaret and her husband Joseph Kirkland. To the father's dismay and mother's annoyance, her love for the boys would always make her clean up after them. Even though they may get an ill look and harsh words from their mother, it would all mean nothing when they're enjoying her pastries, sitting in comfortable chairs, enjoying each other's company.

"Your beds are ready," Arthur's mother said when she was back in the kitchen. The two young men thanked him and after Arthur had kissed her goodnight, they went up the narrow and wobbly stairs to the third floor. Going through the cramped hallway, they reached the end of it. "Luckily I am sleeping in the room right across Robert's, or rather, yours," Arthur said and opened one of the doors, the edge of it nearly scraping the wall against it; so narrow were the corridors in that house. "You'll come wake me up, right?" Francis asked, remembering Arthur's promise of looking after him while they were there. "Of course," Arthur smiled and went to his room after wishing his friend goodnight. Francis closed the door behind him and smiled at the coziness. The room was low and an old oil lamp on a night-table next to the fat bed was the only thing lighting it. Across the door was a big rounded window, delicate green curtains covering it. Too tired from the long day and feeling warm from the food, he didn't have the energy to look at anything else. Lazily he dropped his bag on the chest at the foot of the bed and changed his clothes. He pulled the patched overblanket from the bed and crawled between the fresh white sheets. The quilted blanket was heavy and very cold to the first touch, but in time it warmed up and soon enough Francis was feeling very comfortable, the smell of some herbs on the table beneath the window drifting him to sleep; a short while later he was dreaming of even better things.


	32. Chapter 32

Francis woke up to Arthur gently shaking him. He opened his eyes to meet the Brit's emerald ones and to his imagination or not, he could have sworn he met a warm glimpse of fondness from them. "It's time to wake up," Arthur said quietly. Thinking it just another pleasant dream, he decided to ignore the hallucination of his friend and closed his eyes to drift off once more. To Arthur's irritation he nuzzled into his pillow and was already asleep. The Brit opened the window and the door to create a cold draft and pulled the warm blanket from his friend. Cursing and objecting in French, Francis sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. To his surprise Arthur had been very real and was now standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and the blanket on the ground. "You even had the nerve to look at me before ignoring my wake-up call and going back to sleep," he laughed and tossed the covers back to Francis before closing the door. "I thought you were a dream," he replied, not noticing the small blush accumulating on the Brit's cheeks. He smiled once covered with warmth again, but dared not lie down. "How did you sleep?" Arthur asked and sat on the bed, folding his legs under him and facing the Frenchman. "Good." "I'm glad. Before you get dressed and go downstairs, though, I need to give you a few pointers about the life you'll be living for the next few days," the Brit sighed and looked out the window, where a beautiful day was about to start. "I'm all ears," Francis said, genuinely interested. "Well, first off, I know just how much you like starting your day with a shower and ending it with a bath, so it'll probably kill you to hear that there will be none of that here," Arthur said, a small, barely noticeable, sadistic smile playing on his lips. The Frenchman drooped. "What? Then how will I clean myself? You for one said that we'll be doing a lot of dirty work and forgive me, but I don't intend to go a week reeking of mud and God knows what else! Merde, I'll just jump into a lake or rather, loch, as you say it here, and clean myself while fighting off mythical sea creatures!" Francis ranted to Arthur's amusement. He couldn't stay angry for long, though - seeing Arthur laugh so heartily completely wiped out the dark thoughts from his mind and soon enough his laugh was contagious. "Don't laugh," he chuckled, not helping himself. "I'm sorry, Francis, you are just too much, even in the mornings," Arthur gasped for air from laughing too hard of his friend's face and words. "Don't worry, frog, we're not animals. All I'm saying that after the work has been done, in the evening we will all have a sauna and a shower to get rid of the filth and dirty sweat," he explained. With that Francis could cope with. "That's much better," he said, shagging his hair. "Anything else?" "A lot, actually," the Brit answered, reaching for his bag. "May I?" he asked, when holding the small travel bag. Francis nodded and Arthur began to rummage around it. "None of this," he said and took out a carton full of cigarettes, which he stuffed to his pocket. "If you want to smoke, go ask my grandmother for a pipe." Arthur looked around Francis' bag until he was satisfied and tossed it back to the chest. "Now, a little about the people and the jobs needed to be done here," he said and Francis leaned in closer, not to miss anything.

Arthur inched out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and opened it. He was taking several little photos out of it when an old, tattered note fell. Francis, quickly noticing his friend's morbid look, grabbed it before Arthur could. "Francis, no, that's private!" the Brit yelled, trying to grab it from the Frenchman, who was holding his hands up in the air so he wouldn't reach it. "Oh? A note from a past lover perhaps? Don't you know nothing's private when I'm your friend," the Frenchman laughed, his lust for secrets overpowering him. Defeated, the Brit turned his head away when Francis opened the piece of paper. It read:

"Bosey,

Right now you might not feel the best you've ever felt, you might feel that things will never get better. But don't give up. Tomorrow you might see something wonderful. The thing you're worrying about may be resolved. You might have a good day tomorrow, you may smile.

In a few years time the things that are making you feel like this will be forgotten about.

Love,

mum."

Francis sat in silence after reading it and looked at his friend who was desperately fiddling with the zipper of his woolen jacket. "Mum sent it to me when I left home all these years ago," he said quietly, feeling his friend's compassionate look on him. He didn't dare say anything and he knew it was killing Arthur. "Arthùr," he muttered, the Brit sighing in wait what would follow. "She was right, you know," Francis ended his sentence and handed the note back to Arthur, giving him his warmest smile. Arthur stared him for a few seconds, confused and with a sorrowful shine in his eyes until smiling at him. "She was," he replied and stuffed the note back to the wallet. He crawled to Francis to sit next to him, so it would be easier to show him the photos and talk about them. "Alright, the first one."

He handed him a photo of a tall and well-built man, his golden brown hair graying, having the same thick brows Arthur had. "This is my father, Joseph," Arthur said while Francis was studying the person in the picture. He was smiling, years of hard work under the Sun showing in his many deep Sun and laughter lines. He had surely been a very handsome man when he was younger, since he seemed to been aging well. His nose was big and crooked, probably broken in his early years. Strong and scarred arms showing from his folded white sleeves, he was sure to have been working hard in the country for most, if not all of his life. "He might come across as quiet at first, but when you get to know him, that is, if you get to know him - he might be slightly frigid and he doesn't trust people easily -, you'll understand he is a really nice and smart guy. Ah, it's hard: introducing your family," Arthur finished his description when Francis exchanged him the photo for another one.

"This is my mother, you already met her. Margaret," the Brit said warmly when Francis smiled at the woman in the photograph. She was just as he had seen her last night - short, big-boned but not overweight, luscious red hair tied to a shaggy ponytail, laughing, and warmth emanating from her entire picture, freckles covering her puffy cheeks, wearing an apron over a withered blue dress. "A few pointers," Arthur said when taking the photo from his friend. "Never make a mess around her and do your work without whining. She hates that."

In the next picture was a stern-looking man, possibly in his early thirties. "My eldest brother, Robert. He won't be coming this week, since he's on his honeymoon in Australia," the Brit said. He was as well-built as his father, but not as tall, and had short dark brown hair and striking blue eyes under his thick brows. "He looks the hardy silent type," Francis said, causing Arthur to grin. "He is at first, just like father, but don't let that fool you - he is one of the most calmest, caring and gentle persons I know," he said to which his friend looked at him, a smile on his face. Francis liked hearing Arthur talk about his family; they were the people he truly loved and cared for and he knew from the way the Brit's eyes softly shone while he was speaking, that happy memories probably flooded his mind. "What?" a confused and wry smile came to Arthur's lips. "Nothing," Francis sighed and gave him the photo back. "Next?"

He got a photo in which there were two young men, twins. They both had slightly curled hair, both golden-colored; one had slightly darker, the other lighter hair. They were more lightly built like Arthur was, but they seemed taller. Their cheeks also bore freckles, like their mother. "They are also my older brothers, but by only a few years, though," Arthur said. "The one with darker hair is Wallace and the other one is William. They are both very mischievous and love doing all sorts of pranks and dangerous stuff, so watch out for them," he warned when taking back the photograph.

On that photo was a man Francis had already met. "Scottie, right?" he reminded himself and Arthur nodded. "Yes, this is Allistor, my younger brother," he said. Scottie had shaggy dark red hair and seemed tall and strong, just like in real life. "He is quite the handful, to be honest. He also gets along well with the twins," Arthur said when Francis gave the picture back to him. "And last but not least, my grandmother, or Nana, as we call her," he smiled and gave his friend the last photo.

Francis was surprised to see that woman. She looked ancient, long gray hair braided, skin slightly hanging from his big bones, her eyes deep and face covered with many wrinkles. She seemed lingering and deep, full of knowledge. "She speaks little, only when she needs to, and most of the time she sits on the bench at the path leading to the thick forest behind the house. I remember hearing that she used to live in that forest since birth and moved into this house my grandfather built after they had my fourth uncle. I think the old cottage is still in the woods, though probably ready to fall in if it hasn't already. She is an eccentric old woman and I care for her much; something just pulls towards her, you know?" Arthur said while Francis studied the woman who looked like a witch. "She is my father's mother and Mary is her name. Oh, and all of the surrounding area says without a doubt that she makes the best pipeweed and mead in whole of Britain," Arthur laughed when he got the picture back. "Then I'll be sure to try them both during my time here," Francis said and earned a chuckle from the Brit.

"Are you two boys going to sleep until sundown or are you going to come and get some breakfast anytime soon?" Margaret asked while opening the door and putting her hands on her hips. Little did they know she had been listening behind the door the whole time and that was the reason she had a big hearty smile on her face. "Of course we're coming, mum. Let Francis dress, alright?" Arthur said and walked to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek as a "good morning". "And why would I sleep here anyway, honestly now," they heard him mumble when he was making his way along the corridor to the stairs. "Yes, why indeed," Margaret grinned and after giving Francis a kind look and receiving a confused one from him, she went back to the kitchen, leaving the Frenchman to hastily dress and follow her.


	33. Chapter 33

To Francis' disappointment Arthur wasn't waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, so he had to enter the crowded kitchen alone. To his luck, though, no one except his friend and his parents seemed to notice him standing in the doorway of the kitchen in which the whole Kirkland family was eating, much chatter from the twins and Allistor in the background, although when Joseph Kirkland stood up and went to the Frenchman, they ceased their bickering and looked at him, the kitchen in complete silence except for the sound of sizzling bacon on the pan. The old man gave Francis his hand and Francis shook it. "My name is Joseph Kirkland, thank you for coming to help us," he swiftly said and when Francis had greeted him also, he went back to his seat and continued to read his paper. "So this is Francis?" William asked, his nasal voice and accent concrete, when the man in question sat down next to Arthur. "Looks like a nice fellow, strong too," Wallace added with a voice almost identical and continued to stuff his face with scrambled eggs. "Good, we need someone who could handle strong muscle-work," their father said, giving a slightly dodgy look to Arthur to which Scottie laughed. "Oh shut it, eejit, you know I could easily throw you to the ground," Arthur snapped, pointing his fork at his brother. "No fighting!" Margaret said and smacked her son against the back of his head, causing the Frenchman to smirk. She put a plate full of bacon, toast, scrambled eggs, cooked beans and tomatoes in front of him. "Eat up, we have a long day ahead of us," she said and went to sit at her husband's right hand. After half an hour of eating, their stomachs full of many servings of fried goods and porridge, Francis leaned back in his chair, sighing. To his amazement the twins ordered thirds. "I'll show Francis around the perimeter until you all finish up," Arthur said and stood from the table, his friend following him. Joseph went along with them to the living room and watched the two put on their wellingtons and leave the house. When Margaret came to bring him his tea, he asked: "You are sure that Francis fellow is Arthur's "special" friend?" "Of course!" the woman blushed and smiled. "If only you'd hear the way Bosey speaks of him on the phone!" she sighed and looked at the door the two had went through not too long ago. Joseph gave her an unconvinced look, to which she huffed and folded her arms. "Don't give me that look! Don't you want him to be happy?" "I do, but I still think you're overestimating it all," he simply said and sipped his tea.

It was a spectacular day outside, even though it was still early, 8 o'clock in the morning: the Sun was rising bright in the blue sky, making the greenery around pop to color, different trees blossoming in the fruit garden. Francis could finally see the magnificent and rustic beauty of this place; the looming blueish-green thick ancient woods in the north, fields as far away as the eye could see in the east, a road, paved with lonesome trees, leading to the nearest village in the south and the cottage complex with different farm buildings in the west, their orange and gray stone walls covered with vines and moss. The old age and happiness of this place couldn't stop Francis from smiling, he would had liked to visit this place for many years to come. Arthur was leading him to the forest, saying he wanted him to meet Nana. "I thought it was weird she wasn't at the breakfast table," Francis remarked when they were climbing up a slight green hill. "She wakes up very early, which reminds me - today is just a practice day. Tomorrow we have to wake up at dawn and start the real work," Arthur said to his friend's dismay - he had always hated waking up very early - when they had reached the top. Francis looked around and he hadn't been wrong earlier: the fields did seem to go on forever and the forest was immensely large. They started to descend the hill when he noticed where they were headed. A small one-man road through the tall grass lead to the woods, where below the first trees was a big wooden bench; on it sitting a woman. When they got closer, Francis finally got the first look of Arthur's grandmother. "She looks as ancient as the forest behind her," was his first thought. "Good morning, Nana," Arthur said and hugged her. The old woman hugged him back, but didn't say anything. "This is my friend Francis, he's here to help us with the farm-work," he said and Francis greeted her, but again received no reply. "We should go back, they should be done by now," Arthur said after a while and they left, Mary's eyes following their steps. When back on the top of the hill, Arthur suddenly stopped. "What's wrong?" Francis asked and went back to him, for he had already started to go towards the house. "I felt like saying something, but... I don't know, it's too difficult to put into words," Arthur said while looking melancholically at the fields. "The hardest thing to say is usually worth saying," Francis replied and smiled, wondering what his friend was thinking. Arthur gave him a good long look before opening his mouth, but he was cut off by his mother yelling from the door: "Arthur! Francis! Come down, we're going to hand out the tasks!" The Brit shook his head and told Francis not to mind him before walking to his mother. Disappointed and curious, the Frenchman followed him, but decided it best not to ask him yet. "He'll eventually tell me," he told himself as encouragement.

"The Sun is already too high up in the sky," Joseph said while looking up when the two got together with the rest of the family. He turned to his sons and Francis, and said: "I don't think there's much point in making a list what to do. The first thing we should do is clean the stable and the barn. Your mum's already let the pigs, hares and hens out so Arthur, you take the horses to the meadow; William, you take the sheep to the pasture and Wallace, you're in charge of the cattle and go with William. Scott, Francis and myself will start with forking up the muck and carting it all the way to the compost crate near the vegetable fields where you, Margaret, will start to spread it over. The twins will come and help you once they're done and you, Arthur, will join me. Does everyone understand?" Everyone nodded and they set off in their own directions. William and Wallace took the shepherd dogs with them to aid them while moving the herd of animals which consisted of five cows and 15 sheep to the green fields. Arthur hastily went to the stables and the rest followed him, since Joseph decided it best to start there. The stable was roomy, so every horse there had enough room for themselves in the stalls. There were six of them and they all were healthy-looking. "Hey, Aini, miss me?" Arthur said fondly and went to an elegant Arabian mare, gray and slightly spotted, its black tail and mane shining. He petted its soft nose and the horse snorted from joy. "Aini? That's an unique name," Francis said and went to him to see the horse better. "It's Arabian for spring," Arthur explained and went inside the stall to put a harness on it. Once done, he guided the horse out of the stable and told it to wait there. To his friend's surprise, it stayed on its spot and looked back to see Arthur go back to take the other horses. "These are Robb and Borain, very mellow Belgian draft stallions," William told Francis when his brother was taking care of two massive and strong dark brown horses with creamy manes and tails. When the harnesses were done, Arthur tied the two horses to Aini's sides to its harness. He then went to two big Irish gypsy horses. "Young stallions, Fonso - meaning noble - and Besnik, which means loyal," Arthur said when he brushed the black and white mane away to put on a harness for one of animals pied with the same colors. Once done with both, he tied Fonso to Robb and Besnik to Fonso. "And this is Janey," Scott said when Arthur entered the stall where a small dark gray mare with white spots and a white mane and tail. When Arthur's head almost reached the backs of other horses (except for Aini to which he reached to under its head), this pony was a little above the waist to him. "A sturdy old girl," the Brit said and rubbed its forehead after done with the harness. He went outside and tied it to Borain's side, who was happy to see the mare; the eldest horses were bought together and have been together ever since they were foals. "I'll be back as soon as I can," Arthur told the others and went to Aini, who was becoming restless from standing in one place too long. "No, no galloping now, later," he quietly said to the mare, sliding his hand across the majestic animal's long neck. "You're going bareback?" Margaret asked, holding a saddle ready for Arthur. "Yeah, the saddle would be a bother to carry back," Arthur replied and supporting his arms on the horse's back, he swiftly jumped onto it. He pressed his feet to to its sides to signal Aini to start moving and the convoy set off. Joseph tossed Francis a pair of gloves and a pitchfork. "Well, let's get to work," he said when everyone was ready.

Arthur rode the horses over the hill and once nearing his grandmother, the woman smiled. She had always liked horses and she smiled even more, when Arthur went to the forest with them, since she enjoyed when people visited the woods. She looked back until her grandson was no longer visible through the thicket. For about five minutes Arthur rode until he turned from the main road, long branches of spruces brushing his head. The small road led to a circular meadow inside the forest, completely bare of trees and bearing luscious green grass, a small stream with cold clear water running through it. The horses were happy to be back once again to this little paradise, smelling so fresh and the songs of different birds ringing in the background. The Brit tied the animals apart one by one and once done with everyone, they happily and calmly went off to nibble on the tender greenery. Everyone except for Aini, who started running around the perimeter, neighing cheerfully, joyed to run again and for not having to stay inside a stall or the small fold outside near the house, where there was no room to gallop. Arthur hung the harnesses to a nearby tree and went away, closing the small wooden gate behind him. He walked through the ancient forest, inhaling the sweet smell of spring and feeling vigorous. When he got back to the entrance of the woods, he noticed Nana missing. "She probably went to see the horses through her own secret ways," Arthur thought and climbed over the hill to go back to the stable.

In there work was going at full-steam. The heavy lifting and closed building made the men soon get hot and Francis tied his hair up, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Harder than you thought it would be, huh?" Arthur asked him when he was back, taking Francis' blazer from him. "You have no idea," the Frenchman said and lifted a few more heavy bunches of used hay to the cart, his undershirt wet and clinging to his fit body. He was working hard, since he was under the impression that Joseph and his sons - except Arthur - probably thought that since he was a "prissy" Frenchman, he wasn't cut out to do heavy and dirty work. In reality though it was completely different - Joseph appreciated the amount of work Francis was doing and with such rigor, he even felt he and Allistor weren't doing enough. Scottie took the cart Arthur's friend had filled and took it outside to roll it where his mother was spreading the maneur. The Brit took a large hose and started to water down the already cleaned stalls. Once the water had drained through the small holes in the grounds, he took a big brush with stiff plastic bristles and began scraping the floors and when done with that, he cleaned them again with water. Soon every stable was cleared from hay, mud and dung, and Joseph stayed to help Arthur with his job when he had ordered Scottie and Francis to go and fetch fresh hay.

"Mon dieu, that's so good," Francis huffed once back outside, a fresh warm wind cooling him down. "Ye're a beast, Francis, I can 'ardly keep up with ye," Allistor laughed and patted him on the back. "Com' on, follow me." The two went to a repository, where stacks and rolls of hay were stored. Near it was a big rook to be carried by an ox. "Ye start fillin' it up, I'll go run off fer a sec 'n' get Billy," Scottie said and went towards the fields with a rope. Francis sighed, thinking the Kirkland was just leaving him to do everything by himself and started to fork the hay in the cart. About 15 minutes later, when he had almost filled it, Scott returned with a massive and muscular red bull. "Meet Billy," he said and fixed the ox to the rook. He then helped Francis to put the final bunches on the cart and when done, they walked alongside Billy back to the stable. "What a sturdy animal," Francis thought, looking at the bovine carry its heavy load with ease. They found Arthur and Joseph sitting on a bench outside the stable, consuming the juice and sandwiches Margaret had just brought. "Now we wait for the stalls to dry and then we'll stack the hay there," Joseph said, enjoying his pipe. Francis sat next to Arthur who was also wet from all the hard work and gratefully accepted the drink he was offering. Having drank the cold beverage, he felt instantly refreshed. "That's good, what is it?" he asked while Arthur poured him some more. "Apple and elderflower juice," the Brit replied, took another sandwich and rested his head against the stable walls. "It's already three in the afternoon and we still have the barn to take care of, ugh, not to mention the chicken pen in it," Joseph said while looking at his watch. "Aw great, we'll be finishin' quite late 'n the night," Allistor drawled and threw himself to the ground, laying on the cool grass.

"Oh my God, you all reek," Margaret said when she came to the now clean barn to see if the men were ready yet. They all stood, exhausted and fulfilled, admiring their hard work. "I really hope the sauna is ready," Joseph said and put his pitchfork to a nearby barrel. "Yes-yes, the twins are already there," she said and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner for the hungry workers. They walked around to the back of the house to a small building with a smoking chimney near a lake. "This lake leads to a river which then goes to the open sea," Joseph explained when Francis looked at the water shining black in the darkening weather, a few stars already twinkling in the navy sky. They neared the sauna and when Francis saw everyone was starting to take their clothes off, he assumed that the steam room was just behind the door and he did the same. They dropped their clothes into a nearby crate and entered the stuffy building, herbal hot air blowing to their face from the sudden draft. William and Wallace were already sitting at the top bench, sweaty and red from the heat. "Hey, you're finally here!" they said in union and threw everyone a cool bottle of beer from the cold-box near them. The newcomers also sat down and for a few moments they all drenched their thirst and sat down, their strained muscles eased by the heavy heat. "It's been a while since it's been so crowded here," Joseph said and took another bottle. For half an hour they sat there, talking and laughing, everyone relaxed and ease-minded from the constant well-flavored steam emanating from the heated stones when water mixed with different herbs was thrown at it. "'Ey, Artie, hand me the sheaf," Scottie asked Arthur, who was sitting near the wooden bucket filled with bunches of small branches from different trees. The Brit stood up but instead of handing it, he took it and started to lash it at his brother with, easily said, too much force, the sheaf acting as a whip. The rest of them laughed and soon after everyone was at war with each other, whipping the others with tender branches until the sheaves were completely trashed. William threw the end of his beer to Francis' face and ran out the door, briefly yelling: "Can't catch me, Francis!" Francis and the rest except for Joseph quickly followed him, laughing, but the mischievous twin was already in the cold lake, huffing from the icy chill he got from being too hot. Francis stood at the pier and laughed at him and just as he turned around he felt Arthur push him off it. He quickly grabbed hold of the Brit and pulled him to the water along with him. Wallace and Scott followed with cannonballs and soon enough another battle broke out, splashing each other with cold water and pushing them down under. "You're all going to catch a cold if you don't get out now!" Margaret yelled from the pier, holding a basket filled with towels. One by one they got out of the lake, shuddering in the wind and wrapped the big towels around themselves. They followed Margaret back to the house filled with delicious scents and went to the kitchen to sit at the table. "Freshly made coney stew with honey," she said when handing everyone a big bowl of aromatic food. They all dug in and enjoyed the meal, a side of fluffy white bread and cold milk accompanying it. When they were done, Margaret served her pumpkin pie with whipped cream and after having also finished that, the feeling of tiredness finally succumbed them, sleepy from the hard day, the now surrounding warmth and full stomachs. They all wished each ohter goodnight and went to their respective bedrooms.

A few hours had passed and it was a little past midnight when Francis had had enough. He sat up in his bed, not being able to sleep; he was still thinking what Arthur wanted to tell him earlier the day. He threw on his cardigan and quietly exited the room he was staying in. He smoothly opened Arthur's bedroom door and nearly scared the life out of him when he saw his friend standing at the door, reaching for the doorknob. "What are you doing here?" he hissed. "I - wait, where were you going?" Francis replied, whispering. Arthur quickly pulled him in to the bedroom and closed the door behind him in fear of someone seeing them. "I was going to get you, there's something I want to show you," Arthur whispered and opened the window. "Follow me." He climbed out the window to a small roof below it, Francis doing as he was told. They jumped to a nearby tree and climbed down and soon they were going up the same hill they had before. "Where are we going?" Francis asked, looking at his friend in the moonlit night. "To a place I really like," Arthur smiled and they continued along until they reached the entrance to the woods. To Francis' surprise, Nana was sitting on the bench, a lantern shining dimly next to her. They wished her a good evening and followed the trail deep into the forest, the woman's smiling gaze following them until they were gone in the darkness. Arthur led Francis to the meadow he had rode the horses to and climbing over the gate, he went to sit under a big oak tree, his friend joining him. Francis then understood why Arthur liked the place so much. It was quiet, nightly forest sounds surrounding them; the grass seemed silver under the light of the stars and the Moon, looming black spruces creating a perfect circle to the sky, a light fresh breeze shuffling through their hair. "I come here to think and just... be," Arthur said quietly and looked at the horses do their own business; some were lying down whilst others were still nibbling on the grass. For some time they sat there in complete silence, when Francis finally asked: "What did you want to tell me before?" Arthur shot his eyes open and wrapped his arms around his knees, looking embarrassed. "I don't know why, but almost everything you do makes me want to smile," he said silently, as if whispering. "Pardon?" Francis asked, not believing his ears. Arthur looked at him with shy eyes. "To be hoonest, I have no idea why I'm telling you those kinds of things… I'm not very... eloquent with my words and you have a special talent to make me somewhat lose my mind somehow, which is what could account for me seeming absolutely insane whilst talking to or about you. To be honest, I simply don't know what it is about you, but you make me nervous and excited and happy and at peace and probably a hundred more emotions all at once. I like it even if it does scare me a bit. I like to think it's because I see so much of myself in you and I honestly just want to breathe you in deep and never exhale. Sorry, if this freaks you out and I'm sure these are unrequited sentiments, but how else am I supposed to tell you? You're wonderful and pure - well, in your own way - and lovely and kind and a million more things that I can't wait to still discover about you. So... thank you, Francis... for being there for me whenever I am in need and even if I'm not... for I am afraid of the dark." Arthur finished and continued to look at the horses, fidgeting with his fingers, wondering what came over him. Francis smiled, the happiest he's ever been, and said quietly: "Then, in the words of Michael Faudet, let me tell you, that I will be your torch." Arthur smiled, closed his eyes, and they continued to sit there in welcoming silence for an hour more, until sleep was too overpowering and they decided it best to return to the house.


	34. Chapter 34

"Francis, rise and shine! We start early today!" Margaret yelled and pulled the curtains from the window, letting in the shine of the rising Sun. "10 more minutes, mum," he grumbled and hid his face to a soft and warm pillow. "That's sweet, honey," she cooed and pulled the blanket from him. Francis scuffed and crawled into a ball. "Now go wake Artie up, I'm too busy at the moment, with breakfast and all!" the woman quirkily said and left. Slowly, Francis sat up and stretched himself while yawning. He looked out the window to another beautiful day in the country, white bed-sheets drying in the wind alongside his and the others' clothes they had worn the previous day. He changed and went to Arthur's room, where the Brit was still calmly sleeping. He sat on the bed and for a little while he watched him sleep, for he looked too peaceful to wake up, until the Brit started to move and open his eyes. Thinking the best time to wake him up so it wouldn't seem as if he's been sitting there for long, Francis gently shook him. Arthur looked at him and groaned. "I knew I felt like the biggest creep in the world was in my room," he said while rubbing his eyes and earned a chuckle from his friend. "Wake up, Arthùr," he shook him again after Arthur had fallen back asleep. Drifting, he sat up and looked at Francis with tired eyes. "But I don't want to, I had such a pleasant dream," he whispered and yawned. "Well, too bad, get up," Francis smiled and patted his shoulder before leaving the room.

With a heavy mind, Arthur rose from the bed and slowly got dressed. He went to open the window when he noticed slight muddy footprints on the sill. With a small smile he took a few tissues from his bag and cleaned them up before leaving his bedroom. When Arthur got downstairs, he was surprised to see only his parents and Francis at the kitchen table. "What took you so long?" Margaret asked from the stove. "Nothing," the Brit quickly replied. He took his seat next to his friend and made himself a few sandwiches, asking his father what they have in store for them today. "Well, your mother thought while some of you help her clean the house, the rest will help me paint the yard, plant a few trees to the garden and fix the shed. So sucks to be them who's stuck with Marge," he said, earning a smack from his wife. They heard a truck pull in front. "That must be William with the saplings," she said and gave Arthur his porridge. Joseph stood from the table and called Francis, who had finished his meal, to help him unload the young trees. Francis thanked them for the meal and went with him, leaving Arthur to look back. "Ugh, your brothers haven't lost their ability to oversleep," Margaret said and threw her kitchen towel next to the sink. "Why did you send Francis to wake me up anyway? Couldn't you have done it yourself?" Arthur asked his mother before she left. "Well, dear, everybody deserves someone who makes them look forward for the following day," she said with a warm smile. "What do you mean?" her son called to her back, but she ignored and went upstairs with her usual heavy steps.

When Francis got back to the now crowded kitchen, he noticed Arthur washing the dishes and went to talk to him. Before he could say anything though, Margaret pulled him away from the Brit and handed him a small basket, a little white veil covering the food in it. "Be a dear and go take this to Nana, will you?" she asked with a smile one couldn't deny. Francis took the basket and once again left the house. He walked over the hill to the old woman and put the basket next to her. Mary only looked at it and then continued to stare at Francis. "I'll join you for some time," he said and sat next to her, her gaze never leaving him. They sat in the silence for a while until Francis asked: "Arthùr told me you make great pipeweed. Could I try some?" The old woman pulled out a small pipe beneath her robes and after having stuffed the leaves in it, she lit it and handed to the man. Eyebrows raised, he thanked her and took a few whiffs. "It really is good," he said, feeling a fruity and herbal taste relax him. "Arthùr had been right about her too; something really draws to her," he thought to himself while he puffed the pipe. Something about her made Francis feel free to talk about things that mattered and he was sure that it wasn't the silence, decorated with the song of birds, which made him feel that way.

"Isn't it funny how we go about our days just worrying about ourselves, doing what we please, and then one day, someone comes into your life and turns everything upside down? You now spend every waking moment just waiting to hear from them, whether it's a phone call, a text, a knock on the door or even a sweet letter in the mail. You get anxious waiting for the next time you get to see them. You lose sleep just because you never want to say goodbye or you can't wait to greet them in the mornings. You start to feel things you never felt before and your whole world starts to revolve around that other person. I think that... love... is such a sweet thing. It's scary, though: to find someone that makes you so happy; you start giving them all of your attention, because they're what makes you forget everything bad that's going on in your life. They're the first person you want to talk to in the morning and the last one before you go to sleep just so you can start and end your day with a smile. It all sounds great to have that someone, but it's... so scary to think about how easily they could just leave and take that happiness away too, when they go," he muttered, talking more to himself than Mary, looking at the sky and the lazy clouds swim by there. The old woman took hold of his hand, hers' surprisingly warm and soft, even though wrinkled, scarred and hoarse. Francis looked at her with a surprised look, but soon understood and smiled. And thus they continued to sit there, Francis' hand locked between Mary's two, while he spoke his mind about everything - the feelings he had that confused him, his fears and sorrows, the places he'd like to visit and the times he'd want to enjoy someday, his dreams and hopes for the future. When he was done, he felt a million times better and as if all his thoughts were as clear as ever to him, even though all that time the old woman hadn't said a word. He thanked her and gave her back her pipe, which she stuffed between her tattered scarf again. The Frenchman stood up and wished her a good day, but before he could leave, Mary opened her mouth and let out a raspy, yet mellow voice. "Take good care of him, for your love is great and your word is kind," she said and smiling, looked at the dumbfounded young handsome man standing before her. Francis answered her smile and went back to the hilltop. "There you are!" he heard Arthur yell from the doorstep. "Come down, I was just about to come and look for you!" the Brit called and went back inside. Francis hastily went back down and entered the house.

"You were gone for so long I thought you got lost, Francis," Arthur chuckled when his friend joined him in the living room. "Pardon, didn't mean to make you worry," the Frenchman said and sat next to Arthur on the small couch, their shoulders touching. Soon they were accompanied by the rest of the Kirkland siblings and for about half an hour they just spent chatting and joking, until Margaret stomped to the living room. "Off your bums, all of you! Don't you have work to do?! I know I do and even though your father said some of you are going to help me tidy the house, I'm not going to allow it! You'll just make a bigger mess! So out! Out of the house, now!" she said sternly and afraid of what might come next, the young men fled in terror. The rest of the day was spent just as Joseph had said it would be - doing work - and when the Sun started to finish it's way to the west, they were done with all their chores. "Arthur, go get the horses from the meadow, there's a nip in the air - I think tonight's gonna be cold and I want them to stay at the stable," the old man told his son, who was currently playing football to pass the time with his brothers and Francis. "We'll come too, I haven't ridden in such a long time!" Wallace said, pulling William and Scott by their arms. "Come too, Francis!" Arthur smiled and the Frenchman nodded. They went to the meadow, meddling around. "Have you ridden a horse before?" the Brit asked from his friend when they took the harnesses off the tree he had hung them to. "A few times, but never bareback," Francis replied and caught the harness Scott threw at him. "Then you should go with Borain, he's the calmest," Arthur said and brought him to the huge horse. He helped him attach the leather straps to it and nodded, once done. "Hop on," Arthur said and twined his fingers so Francis could step on them and climb Borain. "You're serious?" he asked, looking up to the animal, his head reaching its back. "Can't I go with that one?" Francis pointed at the pony to which his friend laughed. "She'll be coming too, but I'll tie her to you, so no - you can't ride with her," the Brit grinned. With a sigh, Francis climbed on top the horse with Arthur's lifting help and when sitting on the massive beast, he felt he was too high above the ground. "Relax, we're not going to gallop or even trot," the Brit said and brought Janey to tie her up. After he had helped his brothers get on top the other tall stallions, he swiftly jumped to Aini. "Well, let's go," he said with a smile and they set off. Francis felt awkward and unable to guide his horse, but luckily Borain understood that he wasn't experienced with riding such big horses without saddles and obediently followed the other riders. Soon Francis was quite comfortable and the rest of the ride was spent well. "'Ey, we're ridin' off t' the sunset," Scott laughed when he noticed they went west, towards the setting Sun. "You know what that reminds me of? "Django"," William laughed and the rest followed. Arthur pulled a lot of air to his lungs and started to sing loudly:

"Django!

Django, have you always been alone?"

The others laughed and soon, while riding off towards the sunset to go to the sauna, have dinner and then to rest, they all sang:

"Django!

Django, have you never loved again?

Love will live on, oh oh oh...

Life must go on, oh oh oh...

For you cannot spend your life regretting.

Django!

Django, you must face another day.

Django!

Django, now your love has gone away.

Once you loved her, whoa-oh...

Now you've lost her, whoa-oh-oh-oh...

But you've lost her forever, django.

When there are clouds in the skies, and they are grey.

You may be sad but remember that love will pass away.

Oh, Django!

After the showers, the Sun.

Will be shining...

Once you loved her, whoa-oh...

Now you've lost her, whoa-oh-oh-oh...

But you've lost her for-ever, django.

When there are clouds in the skies, and they are grey.

You may be sad but remember that love will pass away.

Oh, Django!

After the showers, the Sun.

Will be shining...

Django!

Oh oh oh, Django!

You must go on,

Oh oh oh, Django..."


	35. Chapter 35

It was the end of another hard day and after a delicious dinner Margaret found Arthur and Francis sitting on the western porch, wrapped in the quilts they took from their rooms, observing the setting Sun and the scenery while playing cards. She gave them their tea and sat on the bench against the wall, observing the two leisure on the floorboards. "Did you know the most important people in your life are the ones you can picture sitting on a porch with?" Francis asked while he glanced at his friend, trying to figure out the row of cards he was hiding from him. "Really? How quaint! And how about that, here we are, sitting... Alright, I pass, your move, frog," the Brit murmured and took another card from the deck. In the meantime, Joseph had joined Margaret and was now puffing his pipe. He noticed Margaret giggle to herself and shifting her fingers to which he bluntly asked: "What?" She chuckled cheerfully and then said more to the two playing than to her husband: "I love the type of relationship where you are totally comfortable around each other and there's no pressure to act a certain way. There's no awkward moments. You can be weird and lazy when you're together, make fun of each other, tickle each other, and then just laugh it off like you are best friends, because you are. A relationship, where you call each other cute nicknames and there is lots and lots of laughing involved in the time you spend together, but you can also be serious. You can just be yourself with the comfort of knowing that's what the other person loves the most." They both looked at her, Francis wryly smiling, a confused look on Arthur's face. "And what do you mean by that?" he asked, cocking his brow. "I think your mother meant to give a speech before she could ask something that's been on her mind for a long time," Joseph said sternly and rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine! I'll come out with it! Bosey, Francis: how long have you been dating now?"

Francis choked on his tea and Arthur's face turned from him to his parents, cheeks red and eyes wide open. "We're not-" Francis coughed and stood up, thumping his chest to be able to breathe normally again. "We're not in a relationship, how could you even think that?" Arthur asked furiously and rose from the floor to help his friend. "There's no need to become emotional, dear," Margaret said shyly, feeling as if she'd brought the subject up at a wrong time. "I'm alright, Arthùr, thanks," Francis said when he wasn't coughing anymore, his throat hoarse from the sudden hot tea in his trachea. "Whatever," Arthur just snapped and went for the door, the Frenchman's woesome eyes following him. "Where are you going?" his mother asked. "Running, what do you think?!" Arthur yelled from inside the house, leaving the porch in silence. "Forgive her, she can be a little too nosy sometimes," Joseph said, earning a rigid look from his wife. "Non, it's alright," Francis said and picked up Arthur's blanket from the floor. "He always goes running when he's upset," he added when they noticed the Brit go over the hill a little while later. "I'll go talk to him, I know where he's going," Joseph said and left.

Only this time Arthur wasn't just running. He was dashing through the forest, sprinting for the few miles to Mary's shack in order to wear his body out completely; if someone were to see him, they could've said he was running for his life from something and he was - from all the confusion going on his head. A few minutes later upon seeing the house through the trees, he slowed the tempo; his lungs and legs were burning. "They're all a bunch of eejits," he wheezed when reaching the remnants of the house, chewed by time. He sat on the stone steps, the sides of it covered in moss. For a little while he tried to regain his composure and to relax his muscles, his head empty of all unnecessary thoughts. It wasn't until some time later, when he noticed his father through the overgrown thicket, they came flooding back. Now that he thought about it, the words he had spoken so freely, as if a flow of water running down the cliff, had been maybe slightly too sentimental, but he was sure Francis hadn't gotten the wrong idea. "He knows I am a British gentleman and he knows what a close friendship between two of those is. Surely enough, he's French, but it remains the same," was the last thought he had with himself before Joseph sat next to him. "You're much faster than you were before," he said while looking at the now darkening forest. "Well, I have had to do a lot of running these days," Arthur remarked. "That saddens me," Joseph replied, and took out his pipe. "You smoke much more often nowadays." "I do?" the old man chuckled, stuffing tobacco into the wooden piece of art, deer carved onto it. "I guess my children worry me more now than they used to." "Look, there is nothing between me and Francis. It's just a close friendship between two gentlemen, you know that," his son explained and folded his arms, his face a little bitter from his words. "Arthur, I may be old, but I'm not blind," Joseph sternly said, and looked at the Brit with his stark grey eyes. "What do you mean?" Arthur answered his gaze with his emerald ones. "I see the way you look at him - eyes full of fondness and laughter. You smile more often now when he's around and you care for him so, it all comes out from the way you speak. At first I was skeptical about it when your mother told me all these things, but now - when I have seen it with my own two eyes - it's as clear as day to me," Joseph said, furrowing his brows. "What is?" Arthur asked, although his pink cheeks already signaled he knew. "You feel that you may be in love with him, subconsciously or not. But it isn't so." Arthur shot his eyes open and looked at his father, feeling suddenly empty. "What?" he only hushed and continued to stare at Joseph.

"For I have also seen how he looks at you. Lust shining in his eyes, words coated in honey playing on his lips. When I was young, at war I saw many men like that during the missions the British empire had co-operating with the French. They play women for fun - surely he's been quite the devil, hasn't he?" Joseph asked and Arthur's face told him he was right. "But you see, when we weren't near any village, they would advance towards the more feminine soldiers in our troops for a quickie or to have some toodle-pip. It's all just a game for handsome men like him. You're just his next conquest." "Times have hanged, and you don't know hi-" "I don't know him, but I know people." Arthur was interrupted by his father. "You don't know the lengths his kind would go just to play their game." "But he-… I..." Arthur was at loss for words. For the time he had known Francis he knew he could trust him and count on him anytime, but now his father - the man he had always looked up to and who had never been wrong; who had traveled the world and seen life - told him otherwise. With regret, he started to doubt Francis' words; all these talks, and he remembered what Antonio and Gilbert had said during their first meeting. They, who had known Francis for much longer than the Brit had and knew probably everything there was to know about him. "And all those phone-calls they've made asking about... about..." he thought to himself in agony. He buried his head between his arms and they sat in silence for some time.

"Alright, I'll take it from your point of view and your feelings. Let's say he accepts your feelings and you two have fun for a while. Soon he'll grow tired of you and will try to leave and I know you would do anything to make the one you think you love stay. Understand this: at some point you will realize you have done too much for someone, that the only next possible step to do is to stop. Leave them alone. Walk away. It's not like you're giving up and it's not like you shouldn't try. It's just that you have to draw the line of determination from desperation and from being used. What is truly yours will eventually be yours and what is not, no matter how hard you try, will never be. I know it, Arthur: I know he will never be. The way you're acting at the moment... You're not upset, hurt or angry. You're just tired. Soon you'll be even more tired of putting in more effort than you receive. You'll be tired of holding on for nothing. You'll be tired of believing all your lies you tell yourself and you'll be tired of all the lies he's telling you. You'll get tired of getting your hopes up and being disappointed. Again. Listen to me, you have to end your friendship with him," Joseph said sternly. Arthur, a morbid look on his face, felt as if his heart just dropped. He didn't want to think he'd have to spend the rest of his days without the company of such a great friend. Joseph continued to explain using his son's point of view, seeing it worked: "You're holding onto him in the hopes of becoming happy with him. I know it's hard to wait around for something you know might not ever happen and that it's even harder to give up and walk away when you know it's everything you've ever wanted. But you're my son, Arthur - you're strong, and I know you will make the right decisions. You'll be better off without him."

Arthur shook his head, not wanting to believe what his father was saying, but he respected him too much to believe he could be wrong. "I need to... I'll go riding with Aini, don't expect me back before nightfall," he said before darting off the stairs. Joseph looked at him until he was lost to him between the trees. He stood up, sighing. "You're wrong," came a voice behind him. The old man turned around to see his mother, Mary, stand at the doorway. He just shook his head and got on the trail to go back home, knowing there was no point in talking to her.

"What did you tell him?" Margaret shrieked furiously when he was back in the farmyard. "He got back, running like crazy and stormed off with Aini without saying a word!" "He'll be back well before dawn," Joseph said and entered the house. "What did you say to him?" his wife demanded, Francis stopping midway on the stairs upon hearing raised voices from the floor below. "I just told him to get a grip! To quit pursuing something he will never obtain! To forget that Frenchman!" the old man yelled. "How dare you?! Don't you want him to be happy?!" Margaret screamed, shocked by the way her husband had talked to his son. "Of course I do and that's why I told him to stop! Man is not supposed to lie with another man! He will never become happy with him, Francis would just use him and move on! Think how miserable he'd be then! Stop meddling with his affairs!" "Me? You're the one who told him to stop seeing his best friend! I'm just trying to help him, help them both and help us!" Margaret yelled, and left to the kitchen. "You're not trying to help, you're organizing his life as if a playhouse!" Joseph replied, and left to his study, silence falling to the house. With a heavy sigh, Francis went to his room and sat by his window, waiting for Arthur's return.


	36. Chapter 36

Francis woke up when he heard neighing and hushing from the garden below his window. He checked his watch - it showed 3 in the morning - and rubbed his neck, sore from sleeping against the window frame. He went for the door but stopped when he heard the sound of creaking steps on the stairs. A short while later his door opened. "Arthùr," Francis whispered, and looked at his friend, seeming ever so weary and broken. "Hey, sorry to bother you this late," the Brit replied and continued to stand in the doorway with no intention of entering the room. "Not at all. You alright?" "Yeah," Arthur lied. "Listen, I was thinking we should leave tomorrow after plowing the fields. I forgot Bosey had an appointment with the vet and the doctor's times are so hard to come by." Francis nodded, even though he knew what his friend was telling him was an obvious lie, but he dared not question him about his father. The Brit wished him goodnight and turned to leave but was stopped by his friend. "Arthùr, you know if there's anything you need or want to talk about, I'll be here," he said, and looked at the drooping figure ready to close the door. "I know," Arthur only replied, and went to his room. With a heavy sigh, Francis closed the window and went to bed, even though he knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep that night.

The mood at the breakfast table would have been dreadful weren't for the twins and Scottie. They had been out when the situation had occurred last night and had no idea why their parents were acting frigid towards each other or why Arthur was more quiet than usual. After Joseph had finished his meal, he retorted that he would get the tractor and start plowing the fields while the boys finish up. "I expect to see you all ready with your bags in at least 10 minutes so you could get started with the first one," he said and then turned to his wife: "You'll be in charge of the vegetable fields, Scottie will help you along." "I know I am in charge of those, they are my fields," Margaret snapped back and continued washing the dishes. The old man only grunted and left the house.

"Geez, what's going on around here," William muttered once he, Wallace, Arthur and Francis were near the grain storage. "No idea," his twin brother answered, and took a large brown backpack-like piece of clothing made of potato sacks. "It sucks that the mechanics of throwing seeds around is broken on the tractor… Well, we'll take the barley while you two start spreading wheat around," Wallace said as he started to shovel a lot of seeds to the sack. "Well, you heard him," Arthur said to Francis, and went to another crate. Some while later they all were walking up and down the furrows, throwing little grains along they took from the holes in the heavy backpacks they carried. "At least it's easier than the potatoes we did yesterday," Francis said, trying to strike up a conversation with his friend. Arthur only nodded and continued to stomp on the seeds. "You know, when I'm feeling low, I like to think and talk about my thoughts of a better future. Do you have any dreams, Arthùr?" the Frenchman didn't give up. The Brit looked at the clear skies and thought to himself for a minute. "A few, but they're... silly," he finally answered, smiling to himself. "I doubt that," Francis said, happy to hear his friend talk again. "I think the simplest dream I have is... I just want someone to kiss my forehead and tell me how lucky they are to have someone like me," Arthur said wryly, throwing the seeds around. "That's sweet. The simplest I have is kind of like yours, though," Francis smiled and rushed to his friend's side. "One day I'm going to wake up, roll over on my side and kiss the love of my life good morning," he said. Arthur looked at him and smiled, happy to hear someone else also had such simple dreams. "It's funny how a few words from someone can make you feel a million times better," he quietly said, words no louder than a whisper, having forgotten for a while what his father had warned him about. Francis looked at him, a warm smile on his face and a tingle in his heart, for such a little sentence caused such happiness to them both, and he was sure he really was in love with the Brit.

Five hours later they had finished with all the crops since the children from a neighboring village came to help them in the hopes of getting some of Margaret's delicious caramelized apples (which they did get, of course). After lunch they went to dig a new drench to the watering system the Kirkland boys had built a long time ago in order to water the plants on the fields without having to run back and forth to the well. First they set up a small dam to the entrance they had dug to the river in order to stop the water from flowing while they repaired the ditch. Digging and cleaning up the huge drain was hard work, but luckily the young men spent too much time on bickering and teasing each other to remind themselves of that. After a while though, William suddenly sprung up and looked at Arthur with a grin. "You know, Artie, what this reminds me of?" he asked, the others interested in what he had meant. "A song of yours, the one you did with Rush, remember? You had a lot of fun playing your guitar for them," he laughed, Arthur grinding his teeth; he had never liked talking of things that were, even when they were nice memories. "Don't you dare, Will!" he grabbed his brother by the collar and started shaking him, but he couldn't stay angry for long since William's laughter was contagious. Defying the Brit, he opened his mouth and sang:

"I get up at seven, yeah,

and I go to work at nine.

I got no time for livin',

yes, I'm working all the time.

It seems to me

I could live my life

a lot better than I think I am.

I guess that's why they call me,

they call me the workin' man.

They call me the workin' man,

I guess that's what I am."

Arthur just threw him to the mud and continued to shovel, the others laughing at William. "Why did ye' stop playin', tho'? Ye' even made such a big show o' changin' yer identity 'n' shit and then ye just threw it all away. Ye actually were good at playin' the guitar, eejit," Allistor asked his brother after some while. "I got tired of it," Arthur simply replied. "And he still plays," Francis added as if passing by and threw some rocks out of the bottom of the drench. "Only occasionally," the Brit ended the conversation. Some while later they released the dam and water flowed through the drench, the watering system completely functional again.

Francis came down the stairs and threw his bag next to the door; Arthur was nowhere in sight. "He's probably on the bench," said Margaret who brought a basket filled with buns and small pies. "Something for the road," she said while handing it to the Frenchman. He thanked her and left for the hill. She had been right and soon he was sitting beside the Brit. "You sure you want to go?" Francis asked and glimpsed at Arthur, looking at the sky. He nodded, staying silent. "I've never liked staying here for too long," he answered and added, having remembered his lie: "Plus Bosey has the vet." "Of course," his friend smiled and they sat there for a while until Arthur stood up, stretching. "We should get going, it's already 7 o'clock," he sighed, and gave a long look to Francis, the other one cocking a brow while wondering what was going on in the Brit's head. Suddenly Arthur threw a pair of keys to him and left to climb the hill. "You can drive," he called to him. With a smile, Francis followed him.


	37. Chapter 37

Arthur woke up some time later to Francis gently nudging him. "Hey, where do I go from here?" he asked, having stopped at a crossroad what seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. The Brit yawned and stepped out of the car to check the surroundings. "It gets a little tricky from here, I'll drive now," he said once Francis had joined him. The Frenchman nodded and they switched seats. Once both inside, Arthur took a cheese and ham bun between his teeth and drove off. "Tell me something," Francis asked his friend after a while. "Huh, like what?" the Brit was confused and looked at him. "Don't get me wrong, I like silent moments, but... even more I like talking to you. You make me smile regardless of what we are talking about, what mood I'm in, or what we're feeling at the moment. I really like talking to you simply because you know exactly what to say to make me happy," he said. Arthur smiled and answered: "Sometimes someone says something really small and it just fits right into this empty place in your Heard, you know." Francis grinned at his reply, and again a thought, which had crossed his mind many times, came back to him: "I wonder, does he love me too?" The Brit on the other hand drummed his fingers on the wheel after realizing what he had just said to the Frenchman; he wasn't quite sure what to make of this. Earlier he had thought long and hard about his father's words and came to a conclusion on what he should do next. He was going to observe his friend and his behavior around him to prevent everything Joseph had mentioned. If he could do that and keep their friendship, everything would be well. He had given up on one thought, though, and to his surprise it saddened him; Arthur was sure there wouldn't be anything more special between the two. "Well, let's discuss... relationships then, since we both were seemingly to be in one," Arthur bitterly laughed. "Alright," Francis said, wondering why exactly this topic.

"I think, that... I think the best relationships are the ones where you fall for someone unexpectedly. When you have no intention whatsoever of getting at someone, but feelings grow after getting to know them more. The best are the ones you didn't expect to be in. The ones you never saw coming," he said. "Falling in love and having a relationship are two very different things," Arthur replied and turned between some woods. "But if the person is right, they could be the one and the same thing." "Now you're just teasing me," the Brit chuckled. Francis smiled, and muttered: "When I start to tease you, you know I'm comfortable with you." "It's been imminent to me for a while now, you know," Arthur only retorted. "What do you like about relationships? I think that... well, there are many things, but I think that getting to know each other is always the best stage," the Frenchman wondered, and rested his head against the window. Arthur hesitated before answering. It wasn't like he's been in any relationships lately, he's only had one girlfriend before for a short while, to be honest. "Well, to take from personal experience," he drawled, embarrassed, glancing at his friend smile in the dim darkness next to him, "I like silent phone calls sometimes. Where you're on the phone with someone you care about and you're both doing your own thing, knowing that the other cares enough to stay on the phone. Sometimes the conversation doesn't matter, just that they're there, you know?" "I know," Francis answered quietly, and looked at the Brit continue driving. He remembered all these times when their phone-calls had trailed off when they had ran out of things to say to each other whenever one of them was on a trip somewhere but they dared not hang up in case the other still wanted to say something. For the next few hours, they continued to drive in silence.

Once back at the familiar sight of their apartment loft, Bosey finally woke up on the backseat. Having parked the car, they went up with the small elevator, tired, waiting to get to their beds. A few minutes later when the lift had arrived at their floor, they got out their keys to unlock the doors. Arthur wished Francis a goodnight, but before he could enter his flat, Francis took hold of his shoulder. "Listen, Arthùr... If you need me, call me. I don't care if I'm sleeping, having my own problems or if I'm angry at something. If you need me and if you need to talk to me, I'll always be there for you. No matter how big or how small your problem is, I'll be there. And don't even think of telling me everything's alright, because I know it isn't," he said while string into his friend's eyes. Arthur slowly nodded, and went to his apartement, quiet. For a short while Francis stood behind his door, thinking whether to follow him or not. He decided it best to leave it for another day, and he went inside his flat.

For a while Arthur lied on his back between the covers, not being able to sleep. He felt empty and broken, not knowing what to do anymore. He felt awful about trying to taunt Francis into showing his true motives and the fact that he used his own heartfelt words to do it was devastating to him. Suddenly, he sat up and reached for his phone on the cupboard. He was ready to dial his friend's number, but changed his mind, biting his lips and furrowing his brows. He threw it to somewhere far off corner and grabbed his pillow, not knowing what to do, hating himself for being so weak. At the same time, Francis checked his cellphone every now and then.


	38. Chapter 38

The next morning was supposed to be a typical one weren't for Francis' disappointment upon finding the Brit's door locked. He knocked for a few times only to hear no answer, and was about to go back to his flat when he noticed a small note under the door. He pulled it out and read:

"Francis,

had to go to run early. Sorry, no breakfast together today.

Arthur."

He crumpled and shoved it into the pocket of his cardigan. Thinking something was really off and having a bad mood from the start of the day, he decided to dress and go out for some breakfast.

It was a warm day outside and Francis had made a smart move deciding to wear the straw hat Arthur had given him for Christmas, since the Sun was really strong. Aimlessly he wondered through the streets of London, not paying attention to the smiling faces and fluttering eyelashes the women showed him while he passed them. He resided to a small Italian just away from the main street and after having given his order, he kicked back and watched people rush to the metro. It was just a little past 10 o'clock and Francis didn't feel well being out that early; not only that, he had stayed up the previous night, hoping Arthur would call and tell him what has been troubling him lately. "Maybe I could get him to talk during dinner today?" he thought to himself when he thankfully sipped the coffee the waiter had brought him. "Anything else, sir?" the man asked. Francis thought of the breakfast he and the Brit usually shared. It wasn't much, but it was lovely: eating a few sandwiches to a plate of slightly too salty scrambled eggs - of course, Francis never said anything -, drinking a side of sweet tea while sleepily talking about meaningless things. "No, that'll be all," the Frenchman answered and bowing his head, the waiter left.

For a moment he thought he saw Arthur rush by the window, but it was already too late when Francis wanted to get a better look; if it had been him, he was already lost between the crowd. He knew there was no point in going after him, since the Brit was going to work after that anyway. Francis finished his coffee and having paid the bill, he left for the market to get some fresh ingredients for the supper he was planning.

On his way there he passed a flea market, selling all kinds of things from rugs to old record players. He shuffled through some old books when he noticed a pack of music sheets. ""A picture of Dover"?" he read, and continued to glimpse through the pages. It was a duet and the score was made for the piano, and Francis thought it would be a great past-time for him and Arthur. He bought it for a few cents, and continued to the market.

"Francis! Over here!" an old woman called from one of the stalls that sold fresh vegetables and with a smile, the young handsome man went to her. "Good morning, Samantha, looking as good as ever," he greeted her nicely and gave her wrinkled cheek a peck. "Oh, stop it you charmer! Here," the woman said, and pulled out a basket from under the counter. "The freshest leeks, carrots and potatoes, as usual! Oh, and the first of strawberries! Grown in my own garden, sweet as a mid-summer's eve!" she cheered and gave them to Francis. "Oh, you are too much, mon cher," he smiled and started to get out his wallet when Samantha stopped him. "No-no-no, I won't accept money from unhappy customers," she barked, and folded her arms. "What are you talking about? There's no way you have unhappy buyers with all those nice products," Francis cocked his eyebrow. "True, I have the best goods around!" she said loudly enough to receive jealous looks from the nearest stalls. "But something isn't right about you at the moment and besides - ill-minded money will bring ill-minded luck. Just pay me some other day. ... See, that's what I mean!" she frowned when the Frenchman gave her a sad look. "You're impossible, Samantha," he chuckled, and hugged her before moving on. He stopped by the fish market before heading home.

Once home, he stuffed the produce to the fridge and the pantry, and went to sit on the small balcony he had made more homely with the help of Arthur. He would too, usually, do something until the Brit got back from work, but this day, however, he didn't feel like much. He sighed as he looked at Arthur's balcony, the little plants growing in pots on the edge of it. Earlier he had slid the notes through the mail opening in the door to his friend's flat and was hoping he would get to see him before dinner.

Hours later Francis decided to prepare for supper since it was nearing 5 o'clock - the time Arthur would get off from work. He had already cleaned the fish and was chopping the vegetables when he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. Rushing, he took it out and his heart jumped when he saw the Brit's name on the message board, but his smile faded when he read his short text:

"Can't make it for dinner. Sorry."

"What's going on?" he yelled at the phone and grinding his teeth, he ripped the apron off and threw it to the sink. He was desperate, knowing something was bothering his friend, no, his love, and the fact that he didn't want to talk to Francis was tearing him apart; if something like that would happen, he would at least call and explain. Gnawing his index finger - he usually did that when something was testing his nerves -, he was about to call the Brit when he stopped. "Why is everything so hard now?" Francis thought to himself, and turned his phone off, shoving it back to his pocket, and cursing Joseph for possibly having a say in that matter.

Some time past midnight he couldn't stand sitting in one place anymore and decided to go for a stroll around the city. Seeing the elevator was already in use, he decided to wait for it, since it could have been Arthur. The lift stopped a few floors below, and his mind darkened, the Frenchman entered the elevator when it had made its way to him. When he reached the first floor, however, he was shocked to see Arthur, bloodied and his left eye purple, waiting for the elevator. "Oh, hey, frog," he said, swaying, and held his right shoulder, häving hurt it. "What happened?" Francis demanded, having stepped off the elevator. "Nothing special, just a bar fight," the Brit brushed it off and hid his eyes from the Frenchman's devastated ones. "You were at a bar? Why did you get into a fight?" he asked, feeling hurt to hear Arthur's sorry excuse, happy too see him, but angry at his condition. "None of your business!" the Brit yelled, drunk, which is why Francis didn't pay much mind to the heightened voice. "Listen, just... I want to go to bed, leave me alone. Go where you were supposed to go, I know you want to..." Arthur mumbled with a broken voice, and rushed by him to the elevator. With a sorrowful look, Francis followed the elevator's numbers until it stopped on their floor. Even though desolate, he knew he should just leave him be. "At least for tonight," he said to himself and feeling mad, he marched through the streets until early morning.


	39. Chapter 39

That one day was the day Francis felt had to be the one to clear everything up. He got up late, knowing Arthur would sleep in too, the day being Saturday. It was raining outside as if a premonition for bad things to come, but he decided to shrug it off as his imagination. He wanted to talk to Arthur, wanted to know what was going on in that little sweet head of his; he wanted his love to smile a real smile again. It was past noon when he appeared behind his neighbor's door and to his joy, the Brit answered it. "Hey, sorry about that night, I just had a horrible day," he said once the Frenchman was inside. "It's alright. You're looking... slightly better," he said, observing Arthur. "Yeah?" he chuckled. There was no more blood, only his eye was still blue - luckily not swollen - and there were a few cuts along his lips and cheeks. "I'm prohibited from visiting the Hellhound for a few months now... Anyway, I had a look at those notes you sent me," he said after Francis had opened one of the bottles of wine he had brought along with him. "We can try it if you like." Francis smiled and nodded.

The next hours were spent on the small bench at Arthur's piano. Francis noted they sat very close, thighs pressed against one another. Occasionally their hands would brush together, since they both were playing: Francis was in charge of the lower keys while Arthur took care of the higher notes. The Brit couldn't help but to admire the tenderness his friend used while singing; he enjoyed listening to him, sometimes even forgetting his own queue. The singing made him blush occasionally, since he felt Francis was as if singing to him. The Frenchman on the other hand couldn't keep smiling from hearing Arthur put so much heart into the song; he wanted to hear his voice beside his for many years to come.

It was getting dark outside and after a few too many bottles of wine the two found themselves on Arthur's couch, sitting side by side, laughing, after a delicious dinner Francis had prepared. Encouraged by the alcohol, he threw his arms around the Brit and quietly said, eyes half-closed: "You're so cute. I mean... like just not your looks are cute, but your personality too. The things you say are cute. Your voice is cute. Your smile is cute. How you talk to me is just adorable. I like talking to you. I really, really like it. I like how I can call you in the middle of the night and talk till one of us falls asleep. Even though you can be really weird sometimes, I still like that. I like you and just you." Arthur was quickly sobered by this sudden outburst. "So, it has finally happened," he thought in terror, assuming Francis was trying to get a move on him now, of all the times. "What are you saying?" he demanded, slowly nudging away from his friend, who only chuckled and grabbed his hand. "Don't you get it?" he asked. "I just want you, that's it. All your flaws, mistakes, smiles, giggles, jokes, sarcasm. Everything. I just want you." "What do you mean, want me? In a sexual way or something?" Arthur asked, his voice heightened, and stood up, getting nervous and panicking. "Sexual... I have thought about it, it would be lovely, non?" Francis trailed off and also stood. "But... A kiss is just a kiss until you find the one you love. A hug is just a hug till you find the one you're always thinking of. A dream is just a dream until it comes true... and love is just a word until someone is able to prove it to you." Arthur took a few steps back, devastated to see Francis cross the borders of friendship. He hadn't wanted to believe his father's words and now that he himself had given up on the idea of them being together for more than just friends, they rang even clearer in his head. "He's just saying everything to get me in bed," he thought to himself, biting his lip. „Father was right all along."

"Get away from me, get yourself together!" he yelled at Francis, who was suddenly sober from the Brit's screaming. "I can't believe you would do something like that to me! All this time, after all these talks, you wanted me to pour my heart out, just so you could use it to have your way with me!" he screamed, all his darkest thoughts coming to daylight. "You never told me any of those things similar to which I have told you!" "Just because some people's hearts are hard to reach doesn't mean it's not there," Francis said, hurt that Arthur could think this way of him. "Don't speak as if you know everything, you don't! After all you know I've been through, how dare you treat me as if another one of those women you and your friends pick up so easily from the street! Using me to your advantage"" the Brit yelled, clenching his fists. "You're just confused," the Frenchman tried to calm him. "You're probably overheated from your father's words and all your assumptions... How I wish I could take away all your pain just like all those nights when you're staying up too late. Because you deserve so much better than there could ever be," he cooed, taking a few steps towards his nerve-wrecked friend. "Don't!" Arthur yelled. "Why do you still keep trying to woo me with your words? I don't care for you that way!" he shrieked, tears ready to burst. He didn't know why he was getting so upset. Maybe because it all had mattered to him so much and it hurt saying things like that, even though he knew some of them might not have been true. "Don't act so hurt!" he protested to Francis, who was visibly broken. "It hurts, because it matters! That is a huge thing for me to realize - there are things in life that hurt and they hurt, because they are important. It's a real loss, the way you're behaving, and one that needs to be grieved. What happened to you, Arthùr, why are you being like this?" Francis said, his voice becoming louder. "Stop it!" Arthur yelled, grabbing his own head between his arms, hurting himself by tearing at his hair. "Get out, I never want to see you again!"

Francis was shocked. He was at loss for words, he had never expected it all to go that far. He watched Arthur be in shambles before him, broken, inside and out. "If that is what you wish," he muttered, and went for the door, but stopped to look back at the Brit. "Promise me. Promise me you won't forget our laughs and our jokes; our smiles. Our conversations and plans. Even the tears. Our memories, our experience. Our friendship," he said quietly and tried to hold back his tears, seeing Arthur cry. He knew he had meant much to him and he still couldn't understand how all that had happened. "In a sea of people, my eyes will always search for you," he bid farewell before slamming the door after him, hearing one last „shut up" and "get out" from Arthur. After hearing the door bang, the Brit fell to the floor, weary and crying. He cursed himself for many things; for being so weak and wailing so much, but most importantly - for following his father's advice of getting rid of Francis, and knowing that there was no way he could just go and apologize after all that. For late hours he couldn't get himself together, seeing the Frenchman everywhere he looked, until he wore himself out and fell asleep on the couch, Francis' cardigan under his head, eyes cried dry.

Francis sat behind the kitchen table in his flat, resting his head on his arms. He felt completely numb and empty, still going over what had just happened. After a lot of thought his mind was set up and with a heavy heart he opened his laptop to buy himself a one-way ticket back to France. After he had finished the procedure, he got furious at himself and at Arthur, and stood up, kicking the chair to the ground. He yelled and teared at his hair, not believing any of this was real. He went to the balcony, a bottle of wine and a few cartons of smokes with him and spent hours there, trying to regain his composure and to calm his mind. He felt horrible and couldn't help staring at the Brit's windows. Feeling sleep come over him, he went to his bed, slamming, kicking and punching everything that got in his way. "I hope you know how much you mean to me," was his last thought before drifting off.


	40. Chapter 40

For the next couple of weeks things were quiet and the two hardly ever saw each other. Occasionally they would meet on their balconies, too stubborn to go away before the other; Arthur watering his plants or drinking tea, Francis smoking his cigarettes. When the wind was from the Frenchman's side, however, the Brit would always leave, not tolerating the smell of the scented tobacco anymore.

It was during the third week when Arthur started noticing the sudden changes going on around the apartment building. People with families and by only themselves came to see Francis' flat almost every day and many times Arthur would notice big moving trucks in front of their condo, moving the furniture he knew too well to it and driving off.

On a Thursday evening when the Brit was coming home from work, he noticed Francis and their landlord chat before his neighboring door. He cursed himself for not finding keys out early and while he searched for them from his bag, he couldn't help but to overhear their discussion.

"It's a real shame, Mr. Bonnefoy, you were one of my favorite tenants!" the short Indian man said and closed Francis' door, locking it. "You're really sure about leaving England?" "Oui, there's... there's nothing left for me here," the Frenchman answered, looking at Arthur who had stopped mid-way unlocking his front door. "Anyway, I thought to give London one last look before I head to the airport which is why I'm leaving so early." "Oh yes, I remember now, you're supposed to go on the 1 o'clock flight, right? Man, sucks to be traveling in the night," the owner said and turned to Arthur, only now noticing him. "Oh, Mr. Kirkland!" "I payed my rent, didn't I, Mr. Raheej?" he asked bluntly, looking at him, cursing him for spilling out such details of the Frenchman's leave. Francis noticed his red eyes; he felt his stomach clench when he though how much the Brit must've cried. "Ah, yes, indeed, you did. Did you hear, though? Your neighbor is leaving, aren't you going to-" "I bid him a safe flight," Arthur interrupted him and went to his apartment, banging the door behind him. He slid against the closed door, sitting down and burying his face to his hands. He never thought it would be that hard and the more he hurt the more he understood how much he still cared for him, not knowing whether it was love or just an obsession of not being alone anymore. Sure, he still had his family, Kiku, Alfred and others, but they weren't Francis. No one would ever be.

"What's going on with him lately?" Mr. Raheej grumbled to himself. "Going out at strange times to run, coming home drunk... I've been getting complaints from the people downstairs." "I just hope he will try to fix whatever he has broken," Francis muttered, looking at the closed door. "For I'm not allowed." With a sad smile he gave the manager the keys to his flat and left for the elevator, dragging his suitcase behind him.

Arthur passed the next few hours in his bed and his bath. The last ones, though, were spent on the phone with his mother. He tried to sound strong, but knew that Margaret didn't believe any of that. "How I wish I could just mend things," he whispered, holding back his tears. "But you can, honey!" his mother encouraged him on the other side of the line. "You still have time until 1 o'clock, don't you?" Arthur looked at the alarm clock next to his bed show 11:56 PM. "I can try," he said before hanging up and springing in search of some decent clothes, not knowing what to say or what to do when he reaches the airport.

In the mean time, Francis was at the end of the check-in line. He had deliberately stayed last in order to see whether Arthur would come or not. "Sir?" the woman at the metal detector called out to him when it was finally his turn. Sighing and giving the main gate one final broken look, he turned to step through the detector. Soon enough he was at the G-terminal, sitting at the small cafe. "The coffee still tastes like shit, just like it did in December," he thought to himself, when he drank the murky liquid. He kept looking at the entrance of the terminal, expecting Arthur to run through it to him, just like he had seen in those many movies that used to run on the television during Sunday nights. He and the Brit usually spent the Sunday evenings just relaxing, their feet on the coffee table, drinking tea, eating cake and watching chick flicks. "Not watching, though," Francis thought to himself and smiled. Usually they would just laugh at the immense plot holes in them and disagreeing at the point the movies usually made: love is never that easy and never will be. The speaker in the ceiling called out to board the flight FR-36837, it taking off in 20 minutes. Heavily, Francis stood up and left to the boarding gates.

Arthur hastily parked his car alongside the road next to the airport and dashed in, in search of the notification boards. After having found it, he spurt to the gate leading to the G-terminal, desperately trying to make it in time. "Sir, your boarding pass, please!" the young woman said, standing between the gate and him. "I don't have time for that, I need to - someone important to me is going to leave if I don't get there!" he yelled, shaking her shoulders. Taking pity on him, she asked where was that person going to fly. "Paris," he huffed, "flight FR-36-something-something. Can't you call the plane to wait or something?" "I could if the plane would still be at the terminal," the young assistant said, watching how all the emotikon stole away from the man's face. "What?" he whispered, not believing what the woman was saying. "Yes, I'm sorry, the plane left 10 minutes ago." "Ten minutes," he repeated, and turned around, feeling numb. He went to the nearest bench and sat down, still not comprehensible enough to understand what had just happened. He had been so close; to be honest, he was almost already laughing during his drive there, thinking he could - even if it was just a maybe - still fix things. For three more hours he sat on the bench, hoping the attendant had been wrong or that Francis had decided not to go on the flight and come out of the gate any second.


	41. Chapter 41

Francis stepped out of the airport about half an hour after three o'clock in the morning, cool air of Paris brushing through his hair, welcoming home. "Francis!" he heard a soft call from between the crowd. After a few moments he found the person he was searching for: his younger brother Matthieu waving. Francis went to him and embraced him, happy to see his little brother again. "Sorry to get you out of your bed so early in the morning," he said when Matthieu looked at him with his kind blue eyes. "It's nothing, come on, this way," he replied, and led Francis to his small car. As usual, Francis had to fold his knees to be able to sit nicely in the tiny car. "How's university? How's little Michelle?" he asked, trying to make small talk to keep his mind off more worse things. "Studies are going well, I'll be getting my BA soon and well, Michelle is finishing her 11th grade this spring and she worries father with all these plans of going traveling with her friends during the summer, although mother is all thumbs up about backpacking and meeting new people," Matthieu spoke, driving through the half-empty city. "I haven't heard for a month from you. I remember you told me you'd bring Arthùr with you, couldn't he make it?" Francis tightened the grip he had on his seat-belt and quietly answered: "No, he couldn't." Matthieu looked at his big brother, sad to see him not in his own element. "That's how you love someone, I guess - when you can't experience anything without wishing the other person were there to see it, too," he told Francis, when he watched him look at the soft lights of Paris shine in the now lightening sky. Francis glanced at him and sighing, he smiled. Looking at the lanterns, he had just thought how he had planned to surprise Arthur with tickets to Paris, so he would be able to experience what he had given to the Frenchman when they ventured through the dusty streets of London. He hadn't even been there for a year, but already that much had happened.

"It's crazy - how one minute you are making all these plans and promises with someone and the next minute they are out of your life. All it takes is one moment, one word, or one misunderstanding to create a ridiculously large amount of doubts and pain. It's easy to forget a person, but the words, the feelings and the anticipations that you two have once built stays forever. It digs holes into your heart, and it simply hurts," Francis said, resting his tired head against the window frame. "And... I could never forget him." Matthieu drove him to his old loft, which once used to be a warehouse, now converted to an apartment building. They stepped out of the car and after giving his brother the keys, he wished him a goodnight and told him he's expected to a family dinner the next day. Francis bit his lip; his parents would surely ask about Arthur. His brother ran to him and hugged him again, trying to calm him, since he saw him starting to get agitated. "It's amazing how someone can break your heart and you still love them with every shattered piece of it," he whispered, holding his older brother, who had always been there for him and who now was in need of someone himself. "Everything will be alright, Francis, I know it in my heart. And I know he does too and so do you." Francis nodded and turned to leave, watching how Matthieu drove off before going to the big cargo elevator. After having ridden to the top floor, he entered the open apartment, dimly lit from the light emanating through the strong glass ceiling and walls, which seemed as a mirror from outside. He dropped his bags beside the big metal doors and went to the bed, just falling to it. Emotionally and physically exhausted, he checked his phone before covering his face with his hands and going to a restless sleep.


	42. Chapter 42

Margaret arrived at her son's apartment block a week and a half later, worried for not having heard a word from him in a long time and a feeling in her heart told her that everything was far from being okay. She cursed her husband's intolerance and their son's stubbornness, or rather, the lack of it - had he stayed true to his heart and rebelled against Joseph's cutting words, none of this would had happened. She found the key to his flat in the usual place - under the floor mat before the flat where Francis had stayed - and went inside, finding it empty as she suspected. The place was a mess; everything Arthur had dropped had just stayed there, the room giving out a sense of emptiness and despair. It teared her apart, knowing her little boy was desperately broken and feeling horrible for all his actions. She started to tidy the home, picking up shattered tableware, putting fallen lamps and pillows back to their respective places. When she had changed the sheets on the bed, she sat down on it and started to cry, having found photos of the two laughing in Brazil and many crumpled up and smudged letters Arthur had desperately started writing, but never finished. Even though it pained her, she wished Arthur had never brought Francis along with him to his childhood home. Margaret knew the Brit never tolerated being in that house for long due to those many mishappenings and troubles he had had there and the thought that he had brought Francis along was one way to make his stay there more happier clenched her old heart. She watched Bosey climb on top of the bed and lie next to her, resting its head on her knees. "I know," Margaret whispered and petted its wrinkled forehead. She heard the door click and hurried to it to greet her son back.

Arthur sat against the door, gasping for air and writhing in pain. For the past days he had gone out to run in such a way, that after a while he'd collapse from the incredible strain he had put on his muscles. Pridefully, he usually managed to time his wearing out when he was back at his apartment block, nearly crawling to the elevator after resting for a few minutes on the front steps. "Oh, Bosey," she sighed heavily and ran to him, almost taking him to her lap after having sat next to the Brit. "You foolish boy," Margaret whispered, her son starting cry after feeling her warm arms around him. "I couldn't fix it," he crackled, not being able to hold himself back anymore.

A little later they were on his bed after Margaret's stern commands to Arthur to take a bath and eat some of the sweet applepie she had made before taking the bus to London. "It's alright, mum, I'm fine for now, it'll pass, we'll soon forget each other," he sighed, earning a slap from his mother. "Don't say that! You know you're hurt when you have to convince yourself that you're fine," she said after kissing the cheek she had just hit. For the next many hours she told him just to tell her everything; what he and Francis used to do together, the happy memories they shared, what had happened with Joseph and dreadfully, what had happened with his friend. She already knew how they had gotten into that fight, but she wanted him to tell it again - so he would be able recollect his memories and know how wrong he had behaved, listening more to his father's words than his own heart. "Have I ever told you how much I love it when you call me and just tell me about how happy your day has been?" Margaret asked and caressed her son's head. "Reassurance is the best. When someone reminds you how important you are to them, how they still care for and love you, it's like so much weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. A big relief, that they're still there. Reassuring, catching up on things. It's a good feeling, it makes you smile. Don't you want the best for him? Didn't you say a long time ago you love it when he smiles?" she softly spoke, swaying herself and Arthur a little, as if trying to calm down the small boy he used to be and put him back to sleep after having a nightmare. "I do love it... I love him," he whispered, tears flowing down his striped cheeks. "But it's all over... what I've done, he could never forgive me. I know I hurt him more than I hurt myself." Margaret stayed calm, supporting her son, and said quietly: "Sometimes two people have to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together." She reached for his phone and handed it to him. "Call him, we both know you want to." With shaky hands, the Brit took it, but threw it away after a while. "I can't... it wouldn't be right. To make a petty phone-call after such a big thing would be dishonest and uncaring," he said and fell back to his mother's lap. "How I wish..." he sighed, catching his breath from crying. "I... If I could, I would go visit him right now." Margaret hushed him and held him close, softly saying: "Distance means so little when someone means so much."


	43. Chapter 43

Hours later Arthur stepped out of the airport, confused by the French language surrounding him. Of course he had picked up some along the way during his time interacting with Francis, but it clearly wasn't enough to get about his way in Paris. He took a cab and showed the driver the address he wanted to go to. After the driver had set off, he kicked back in the back seat and thought over everything that had occurred during the last few hours.

After his mother had said that distance means nothing, he had made his mind up. He had darted through his flat in search of proper clothes, his wallet and Francis' light blue cardigan he had worn on his darkest days. He remembered how awful he had felt upon finding his small note about not being able to have breakfast with him in the pocket. After gotten everything ready, he had called the number of Francis' mother that had been left in his cellphone when the Frenchman had used it to call her once.

"Oui, qui est ce?" a woman's voice had asked on the other line. "Oh, umm, I'm a friend of Francis', Arthur Kirk-" "Arthur?!" The woman had shrieked on the other line. "How dare you call after everything you've done to him? Do you have any idea, what-" "Yes! Yes, please, please listen to me!" Arthur had desperately interrupted her and she had ceased her bickering, her French interest in dramatic situations overpowering her. "I know very well what I have done... And this is why I need to talk to you. To try and fix things one last time. Please, hear me out, I don't have a lot of time," he pleaded, Margaret smiling, prouad of her son.

From Mrs. Bonnefoy Arthur had gotten Francis' Parisian home address and after a short ride, the taxi stopped in front of the renovated warehouse. He took the elevator up, his heart beating so hard he thought it might jump out anytime. He hesitated before ringing the doorbell, not from not wanting or from discomfort of going in, but rather he tried to get himself together, since he feared he would just stare at the Frenchman or burst into tears before he could even say anything. Finally he rang the bell a few times, but after 15 minutes of doing so he was sure Francis wasn't home. He didn't care though; he was willing to wait for him, not caring if it took hours for his friend to come back. "It's already 7 in the evening, it won't be long, I'm sure," he thought to himself and sat down next to the metal doors.

Hours later Francis entered the building and rode the elevator up, only to be startled by a figure sitting beside his apartment's door. "He came here," he thought, immense happiness and hurt flowing over him when he watched the Brit sleep along the wall. He cursed himself when he saw him awaken. "Francis," he hushed, standing up, brushing off the dirt and dust from his pants. Francis regained his composure, appearing cold and numb to Arthur, but he loved hearing him say his name again, knowing it was safe between his lips. "What is it, Arthùr? Why are you here?" he asked, climbing up the few steps and unlocking his door. Arthur, startled from the frigidness of his tone and behavior, drooped, and looked at him stand in the doorway, the room dark behind him. "I... I came to bring you back your cardigan, you forgot it before," he wryly said, handing over a brown paper bag. "That can't be the only reason you're here," Francis said, hoping his words to be true. Arthur slowly shook his head. "Well, come in then, I guess," Francis sighed, and turned his back to him, so he could be able to release the big smile that had wanted to flow onto his face ever since he saw the Brit sit next to the door.

Arthur took one step inside and Francis closed the door behind him. At the moment all he wished to do was punch him straight to his handsome face and then pull him to his embrace, but he wanted to hear what the Brit had to say for himself. Francis threw the bag to his sofa and leaned against a column in the middle of the loft, nodding his head in signaling Arthur to talk. "I'm not here to beg for your forgiveness and take me back to your side. I'm just here to... to apologize and tell you how I really feel. Just... please; give me just five minutes," Arthur begged. The Frenchman couldn't stay irritated at him. Even though he was still badly hurt and broken from all of the Brit's harsh words, some of the ice surrounding his heart seemed to melt when he saw him standing there after a long way of finding out his whereabouts and realizing what he had done. Again, he noticed his red dry eyes and felt awful for them both. "If only you would have let me into your life," he thought sadly of all the tears Arthur must had shed. "Talk as long as you want," he finally said, the Brit exhaling to calm his nerves.

"You know... it sucks when you get in the habit of talking to someone every night... and then one night when they're not there, everything's just so lonely and it's hard to sleep," he said, fidgeting his fingers in that adorable manner of his. "I remember all those late night conversations and on my worst days I miss you more than usually. It hits me at the most random times, like when I walk out of the house in the morning, or when the midnight air creeps through my window and nips at my cheeks. I remember everything you said and I can't help but be mad at myself for pushing you away." Francis sorrowfully watched Arthur clench his fists, trying to hold his tears back. He looked into Francis' sapphire eyes and seeing tears glisten in them, he couldn't hold on anymore. Francis felt his heart clench when he saw the Brit just standing there, crying. "I... I feel like we have known each other our whole lives. I don't think I have ever connected with another human the way I have with you. When I look into your eyes that's when I feel it. That sudden sense of hope. You give me hope. You make things okay. You are always there for me. No one else in the world can do that for me but you. You… you are special," Arthur continued, broken. "The things I've said to you during our friendship... only now I know it had been my heart subconsciously talking all time long." Francis took a few steps forward, not being able to just stand there, but stopped, knowing his friend wasn't finished yet. "Falling in love with you was like coming to a place I didn't realize I'd been missing all my life. You're the only person I've ever known who accepts me for who I am, right in this moment, faults and all, and isn't waiting for me to become someone else. Francis, I..." Arthur stopped, not being able to talk from crying. "It's just... It's just so devastating for me to know that I realized all these things when it was already too late. "Oh, Arthùr," Francis sighed, and rushed to him, pulling him to his embrace. "It's not, it's not too late," he hushed, holding the Brit ever stronger between his arms. "I'm so sorry for everything," Arthur said, crying into his chest. "It's okay, everything's going to be okay," Francis smiled, crying from happiness. He rested his forehead against Arthur's and wiped his tears, saying: "I love you, I always will, and nothing is ever going to change that." He kissed his forehead and continued to tell him how lucky he was for having someone like the Brit and other things that mattered until his, finally, new-found lover had calmed down.

"I love you, Francis and I am ever so sorry for being dishonest with your heart and mine," Arthur said and dried Francis' cheeks, the Frenchman sighing in relief and complete happiness. After all that time, he finally felt everything was going to be alright. "I will never leave your side." Francis nodded, smiling and leaned in closer. Their lips brushed gently against one another's, enjoying the soft feel of their tender love and after having fallen to their first kiss, they were reminded of their longing for each other. Soon they were drinking each other's lips passionately, Francis leading Arthur to his bed. They fell to it, covering one another's necks and collarbones with pecks and teases. "If you'll have me," Francis whispered, breathing in the Brit's sweet scent. "I would be lying if I told the thought hadn't crossed my mind," Arthur chuckled, before he succumbed to the Frenchman's kisses once again, knowing he was safe and secure between the arms belonging to the love of his life.

NB! This isn't the final chapter yet!


	44. Chapter 44

It was around 3 in the morning when Arthur suddenly woke up from hearing the door slam somewhere downstairs; he had always been a light sleeper. He slowly sat up, feeling worn out but happy, knowing Francis was and ever would be always by his side. The Frenchman was contently sleeping next to him, a small smile on his face, hair tussled, and breathing light. Feeling heartfelt, the Brit leaned to him and gently kissed his cheek, brushing the fair locks behind his ear, as if to see whether the warm body next to him was real or not. He turned back around and couldn't help but to smile widely when he felt an arm snake around him. "Are you happy?" he heard Francis whisper behind him, his stubble tickling Arthur's shoulder. He turned around, rested his head in the corner where the Frenchman's neck and shoulder joined and answered: "Happiness is waking up in the middle of the night and feeling the heat of that one person next to you. You turn around and see them in their most peaceful innocent and vulnerable state. They breathe as though the weight of the world lays on anyone's shoulder but their own. You smile, kiss their face in the most gentle manner so as not to wake them. You turn back around and an involuntary grin forms on your own face. You feel an arm wrap around your waist and you know it doesn't get any better than this." "It doesn't get any better than this," Francis repeated, smiling, and kissed the Brit's forehead.

The next time Arthur woke up was around 10 o'clock to Francis closing the big metal door after him. "Where did you run off?" he asked, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "I didn't run off anywhere, cher," Francis said, kissed him good morning and continued to the kitchen with his bag. "I just went to get some breakfast." "How did I not wake up to you messing around here?" he asked more from himself than from Francis and fell back down, stretching himself. "Maybe you slept well after a long time?" the Frenchman suggested from the kitchen area and flicked on the electric kettle. "Ugh, I have a feeling I won't even wake up to an alarm clock as long as you sleep next to me," he said and looked around Francis' apartment. Last night he didn't have the need to observe anything, he only had eyes for his lover. "I only now noticed how conveniently the bed is straight from the door," he said, rolling his eyes, thinking how useful it must have been for his previous years of bringing a different girl home every evening. "It helped last night, didn't it?" Francis chuckled to Arthur's dodgy, yet laughing look. He brought a platter with breakfast to the bed and sat beside the Brit, pulling him to his embrace. "Breakfast in bed? Could I get used to that?" Arthur cheered and felt the Frenchman's lips curve into a smile against his skin. "Last time I checked you were in charge of that, so thank you, I really do like slow mornings, and as long as you won't get any crumbs between the covers, I would love to eat in bed," he said, chuckling when Arthur put the fresh croissant back on the plate. "Don't count on it, frog," the Brit replied and took a cup of creamed tea instead. "They only had different berry teas, pardon," Francis said when the other took a sip. "It's great," Arthur smiled and clanked his cup to Francis'. "What happens now?" the Frenchman asked, slightly weary of what might come next. Arthur softly pecked him and whispering, pleaded: "Please come back to London with me. Stay. No matter how hard it is to be with me, please... just stay. I need you." Francis rested his head on Arthur's shoulder and answered quietly, his voice low and comforting: "My father once said, that distance never separates two hearts that really care, for our memories span the miles and in seconds, we are there. But whenever I started feeling sad, because I missed you, I reminded myself how lucky I was to have someone so special to miss. Yet..." He stopped and looked into the Brit's eyes, who was starting to feel awful. "I don't want to just have a special person to miss. I want to be with them wherever they might be. Arthùr... I will follow you everywhere, wherever you want to go," he finished his sentence and cupped Arthur's face, sealing his words with a kiss. "My love for you is too great to let you go off somewhere without me." "And you know I love you too much to leave without you," the Brit smiled and rested back against his lover.

Thank you all so much for those reviews, favorites and follows, but I need to ask a question from you: so, this was the final chapter of the story, but I have some ideas of their future life together (and certain chapters like the WEDDING). So, my question is to what you prefer: should I post the chapters to this story or should I make a new followup story? A million thanks again!


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